


Riding the Tiger

by snarkymuch



Series: twisted around and backwards [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Tony Stark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, I'm gonna step away from the tags now, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Nightmares, Past Rape/Non-con, Pepper Potts Is a Good Bro, Polyamory, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Rape Recovery, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Tony Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Wow, author is not of sound mind, even though in reality they don't, hugs make things better, projecting my own problems, sorry - Freeform, super soldiers who are teddy bears, thankfully he gets one, there's no smut, these tags sound awful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-15 00:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18487654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch
Summary: He who rides a tiger is afraid to dismount—Chinese ProverbThis is the short story about mental illness, forgiveness, and finding a way to start again. Tony has bipolar and PTSD, and he’s struggling under the weight of the changes around him and the illness within him. Med compliance isn’t easy. It’s amazing the weight pills can hold. With the Accords amended and the team returning, Tony needs to learn to trust and accept that it’s okay for people to care.Somewhere between the scars of love and thorns of anger lies desperate hope, all you need to do is grab onto it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is something that means a lot to me. I wrote it for myself. The struggles that Tony faces in this, his way of thinking, his medications, they are from my experiences with bipolar. Writing this was a way to let go of some of my own demons. I needed to hear the support that Tony received. Because at the time I wrote this, I felt like I had none. 
> 
> When I went off my medication and originally created this story, I was a mess. It took a long time to come back and face my creation. It was a stark reminder of my own illness, but I felt like this needed to be shared, so I cleaned it up and rewrote some parts to make it presentable. Mania didn't lend itself well to proper writing. I hope it helps someone else who needs the comfort of a few kind words.
> 
> I do want to warn you that I let my boys get together kinda fast as this story takes place over a short span of time. It was a combination of reasons that it happened that way and I could give explanations, but I am happy with what I have. This story was more about comfort and less about the realism of how long it would take to bring these boys together with all their baggage.

_They were coming back._

Tony paced the workshop of the compound, fingers knotted in his hair, trying to fight the feeling of overwhelming panic—his mind racing. This was supposed to be a good thing. It was closure—or some crap like that—at least according to his therapist. Maybe he shouldn’t have fired her. He could use a little advice about now.

Everything was finally fitting into place. Tony had spent the better part of the last year working with Rhodey and Pepper on repairing the damage done through their so-called civil war. Pepper had run a stellar PR campaign while Rhodey stood by him for support. Vision didn’t stick around, taking off after Wanda. They were somewhere in Europe the last he heard. It was okay, though, because he and Rhodey handled it.

Together they’d fought the UN Council to amend the Accords, fought to pardon his ex-teammates, Tony even fought at the hearing to clear Bucky’s name. To be honest, he wasn’t sure why he did all he did. It was going above and beyond. He wondered if it was his way of forgiving—showing the world he held no hard feelings.

But now reality was sinking in.

 _They were coming back_.

Helping them had been one thing, but somewhere in his planning, he’d failed to foresee the eventual outcome. If all went according to plan, which it had, they were going to need a home, somewhere that the council deemed appropriate. It seemed logical to all those involved that they’d come back to the compound, and Tony had even agreed despite the way the idea sent a shiver of down his spine.

_They were coming back._

The words taunted him.

His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to breathe through the reality of the situation. He growled as he swept his arm across his workstation in frustration, sending bits and pieces of metal and tools across the room. He stumbled back into the counter and then slid down to the floor, wrapping his arms around himself. What had he thought when he agreed to let them come back?

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to drown out the noise in his head, his mind flashing memories of things he wished he could forget. He twisted his fingers in his hair, pulling at it painfully. He closed his eyes and rested his head back, mind racing. He didn’t know how long he sat there, chasing his thoughts.

“Boss, you have an incoming call from Ms. Potts. Would you like me to put her through?”

Tony dragged a hand over his face. He blinked in the too-bright light of the workshop. His tailbone aching from sitting on the hard tile too long. “Pepper?”

“Yes, Boss,” his AI spoke. “She is inquiring about your wellbeing.”

Tony sighed, waving a hand. “Yeah, patch her through.”

He climbed to his feet, knees popping as he pushed himself up. The room spun a little as he adjusted to the new position. Like it could read his mind, Dum-E whirled and grabbed a granola bar, wheeling over to him. He rolled his eyes but took the offering, giving the bot a pat on the head. It didn’t say much for his ability to manage self-care when he had to rely on a robot to feed him. He knew hadn’t been eating much lately, and apparently, it showed.

“Tony,” Pepper said. “It’s been days. You were supposed to call and check in with me. You do know the pharmacy calls me, right? You’re due for a refill for two of your meds. Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Not really,” Tony sighed. It wasn’t that he had meant to stop, but it had just become overwhelming somehow. Once he’d missed a few, it became easier to skip more, and then before he knew it, he was free of the things entirely. “I’ll send happy to pick them up. It’s fine. I’ll get back on track. Promise, Pep.”

“You can’t do this, Tony.” She sighed. “You know what happens when you go off them.”

He shrugged, glad that Pepper couldn’t see him doing it. He hated that he needed medication. Tony hated how it numbed him, muted his mind. He liked the chaos more than the apathy that they provided. He knew it was a gamble to go off. You never knew how high you’d go or how hard you’d fall, but at least for a little while, you felt alive. It was a rush he didn’t think anyone else could understand. The medication stole his personality, or at least that’s how it felt. The doctor was always telling him he just needed to find the right combination, get stable, and then he’d feel better—normal even—but who said he wanted that?

“You don’t get it. You don’t understand.”

“Tony,” she said softly. “I know you don’t like them, but you need them.”

“I know. I get it. I said I would take them,” he said sharply, regretting the harsh tone immediately. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just haven’t been getting much sleep. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s okay. Just please don’t forget Dr. Cho is coming to give you your injection tomorrow. I know you hate it, but it’s at least one medication I know you’re getting.”

Tony knew all too well he was due for his injection—an atypical antipsychotic. It had been explained to him in detail. He needed it every thirty days. It was supposed to balance his moods, help quiet his mind. It did help, but it also gave him a sore lump on his ass cheek for a week and sucked the life out of him for days after. Part of him wanted to just go grab one of his suits and disappear—say screw it all—but he couldn’t. The team was coming home, and he needed to be there—he needed to show them he wasn’t afraid.

“Tony?” Pepper prompted. “You still there?”

“Yeah, Pep,” Tony said. “Just got a lot on my mind. I can’t believe they’re coming back, you know? It’s finally over.”

“You did a good job,” she said. “But are you sure you’re up for seeing them? I can make other arrangements. If the council likes it or not, this is still your home, and you don’t need to be uncomfortable in it.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He tried to believe his own words, but he knew deep down he wasn’t ready. He’d wanted to forgive them all, wanting closure, but he wasn’t sure how successful he’d been. Before firing his last therapist, they’d spent time working through the benefits of accepting your own actions and forgiving others for theirs. Some days it felt like he had managed to let the past go, but others, he could still feel the shield cutting into his chest. No one ever said forgiveness was easy.

Pepper sighed. “I know you’re not fine, but I also know I can’t change your mind when you dig your heels in, so please, _for me_ , take your meds and get some rest, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

“Thank you. Now go lay down. You know how important sleep is for you.”

Tony found himself yawning at that. “Alright, maybe I’ll take a nap. Talk to you later, Pep.”

“Night, hun.”

He hated admitting that Pepper was right, but he hadn’t been sleeping—not like he should. When he slept, the nightmares would start, and their grip was unbreakable. On the worst nights, he’d find himself frozen in the bed while his mind replayed the worst moments of his life unable to pull himself free. From Afghanistan to Siberia, his mind would never relent. It was easier to stay awake. It was easier than remembering the past he wanted to forget.

Taking his medications was another story. Logically, he knew he should take them, but doing so sometimes seemed harder than building the Iron Man armor back in the cave. The pills would just sit in his palm as he held them, feeling like they weighed a hundred pounds. There were ones to help him sleep, ones for his anxiety, mood stabilizers, and of course, he couldn’t forget the shot that left him sore for days. It was ten levels of awful, and at times, he just didn’t want to deal. He'd just quit, cold turkey, migraine-inducing withdrawals and all, sending himself spiraling into mania or depression.

The only people who knew the extent of his issues were Happy, Pepper, Rhodey, and Dr. Cho. He’d managed to keep anyone else from knowing. Thankfully most people just chalked it up to his eccentric personality as they called it, and he wasn’t going to correct them. It was easier that way.

Sighing, he left his workshop and headed back to his room. He wandered over to his dresser and opened it, cringing at the sight. It was a mix of various prescription bottles—some old and long expired, some with a few left, some were nearly full because he hadn’t been taking them, and in the corner of the drawer was a daily pill sorter that sat empty. It had been a present from Pepper to help him stay organized and keep him on track, but he hated taking the time to fill it, so it was rarely used.

He was already feeling overwhelmed. He wanted to just shut the drawer and go back to his workshop, but he’d promised Pepper he’d try, so there he was. He dug around in the drawer looking for the bottle of Depakote—one of the more obnoxious pills just because of its size. They were supposed to keep his mood levels and mania controlled, but they made him feel numb and screwed with his appetite. He hated them, but he knew that he was walking a fine line. He knew somewhere inside him that Pepper was right. He was already beginning to feel his mood changing. He was starting to crash and burn.

He found the offending pills and swallowed them dry, then dug around for his sleeping pills. He had plenty of them left since he hadn’t been taking them. He took two despite only being prescribed one. He didn’t care. He was just hoping it would knock him out enough that he didn’t dream. He really needed some sleep. His mind had been chaotic for weeks, and now he was feeling burnt out—like he wanted to build a blanket fort and not come out. The world felt too big and a bit too much to face. The thought of the teams impending arrival was creeping back into his mind, but he did his best to push it down. He didn’t want to think about it, not yet.

He toed off his shoes and walked over to the bed, not bothering to strip.

“Friday, have Happy grab my scripts tomorrow,” he said. “And make sure I’m up in time for the good Dr. Cho. Don’t want to miss out on my shot.”

“I’ll make sure you’re awake with enough time to shower, Boss.”

“Thanks, girl,” he said, flopping down on the bed. “Night, night.”

“Sweet dreams, sir,” his AI replied.

His dreams weren’t sweet, though. Despite his hope for a dreamless sleep, he had nightmares. Scene after scene played out in front of him in all too much detail. He was back in Afghanistan, being waterboarded, beaten, and whipped. It was so sharp and real, and he couldn’t escape. He was trapped. His heart began to pound in his chest, shirt soaked with sweat. He knew this nightmare all too well—where it was heading. He tried to wake up. He knew what was about to happen. He cried out into the darkness of his room as he fought off the attackers that were long since gone, twisting and tangling in the sheets.

He awoke with a start, feeling nauseous. His hand went to his shoulder, covering the small scar that lay there. It had felt so real. He cursed himself for not being able to put it behind him. It had been years, and yet there he was, still letting it get to him. It seemed some demons you couldn’t outrun.

Not wanting to risk another nightmare, he figured he might as well get up and start the day. It was still dark, but technically morning, just early morning. He got in the shower feeling hungover from the sleeping pills. He was quick, not a big fan of water after the nightmares he’d had. He got dressed in sweats and an oversized MIT hoodie and glanced at the dresser where his pills were. He was supposed to take Depakote twice a day. Granted, this was a little early to take them, but better now than not at all, so sighing, he walked over and dug around for the bottle. He found it and took two out, tossing them in his mouth and swallowing them down.

He padded his way through the empty halls to the kitchen. He lived mostly alone. Rhodey would come by here and there, but he stayed busy at the Pentagon. He did make sure to stop by and check on him, though, so did Pepper. Especially after his last depressive episode. He felt a stab of guilt and regret thinking about it and rubbed at his arm absentmindedly.

He walked over to the cupboards, opening them up and digging around, not finding much to eat except some oatmeal and fruit—probably courtesy of Pepper. She was always looking out for him.

The task of cooking oatmeal seemed tedious and overwhelming in his state of mind, but he’d learned his lesson about taking medication on an empty stomach after nearly developing an ulcer in the past—something Pepper and Rhodey both scolded him for like a child.

He grabbed the oatmeal packet and stared at the directions like they were written in a foreign language. He was too tired for this. He wanted to go curl up and just forget for a while, but instead, he dumped the packet in a bowl, splashed what he hoped was the right amount of milk in, and tossed it in the microwave. He leaned against the counter as he waited for it to beep. When it finally did, he took it out and looked at the overcooked mush. He had no energy to cook something else, so he grabbed a spoon and forced it down. Finished, he tossed the bowl in the sink with a mental note to wash it later.

He turned from the kitchen and began his way towards the living room to await Dr. Cho when Friday’s voice announced something he wasn’t expecting.

“Boss, the team has arrived.”

“I’m sorry, Fri,” he said, stopping mid-step. “Come again?”

“The team has arrived, sir,” Friday responded.

Tony ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry, Boss, but they are making their way inside now. Would you like me to send them to their quarters?”

“No, it’s fine. I got this. Thanks.”

His heart began to hammer in his chest, and he pressed a palm to the scar that Steve’s shield had left behind. Nope. This was a bad idea. What had he been thinking, letting them come here? He firmly put this into the column of Tony’s Worst Ideas. He couldn’t handle this. He needed to breathe.

“Boss, I think it would help if you slowed your breathing,” Friday said.

Right. Breathing. He could do that.

In.

Out.

And repeat.

Nope. Not helping.

There was the sound of footsteps and chatter approaching. He had to pull himself together, even if it seemed impossible. He drew another deep breath, letting it out slowly. He wasn’t even presentable. He was in sweats and a hoodie, hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes, thin from not eating—not how he wanted to be seen for the first time in so long.

He didn’t have a choice, though, because when he looked up from his mini panic attack, he was met with the stares of his old team. At a glance, he could see Clint in the back with Natasha, Sam to the right, and Steve and Bucky in the front—two pairs of blue eyes locked on his. It felt like too much.

Just keep breathing, he reminded himself. The last thing he needed was a full-fledged panic attack.

Any smiles they had when they walked in seemed to slip from their faces upon seeing him. He couldn’t help the sick feeling in his stomach. He looked away, running a hand through his hair. He drew another shaky breath and then looked back up, plastering on the best media smile he could afford.

“Welcome, back,” Tony said. “Your rooms are all in the west wing. I did some renovations, hopefully for the better. Sorry, the kitchen's not really stocked. I’ll take care of it, though. If there’s anything special you want, just ask Friday. She’ll make sure you get it. Anyway, I’ve got some projects to work on, so make yourself at home.”

He went to turn and make his way toward his workshop, but of course, Steve couldn’t just let him leave without making things awkward.

“Tony, are you alright?” Steve asked, eyes locked on him.

Tony flashed him a smile. “Just fine, Cap.”

“Boss, Dr. Cho is here for you,” Friday said.  

“Shit,” Tony cursed, stepping back and away from them. “Send her to my workshop. I’ll be right there.”

Steve went to say something more, to step forward, but before he could, Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm and pulled him back. “Let him go, Steve. Now’s not the time.”

Tony never thought he would be thankful toward Bucky until that moment. Without another word, he escaped down the hall to meet Dr. Cho.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get a little more posted so here it is. Enjoy!

Tony sat on the couch in his workshop as he watched Dr. Cho prepare his injection.

“So, I know med compliance has been an issue for you. How are you doing with it?”

Tony debated whether to be honest or not. He wasn’t doing great, but he had taken them before bed and again that morning, so he shrugged. “I’ve taken them.”

“I spoke to Pepper, Tony,” she said softly. “I know you haven’t been on them for a while now. This injection is probably the only thing keeping you remotely level. Is there a reason you don’t want to take them?”

Tony thought for a moment. “I don’t like being drugged, and sometimes it’s like I start feeling better, and I don’t feel like I need them anymore.”

She nodded like it made perfect sense as she put on gloves. “How’s therapy going?”

Tony suddenly found his nails very interesting. “I … uh … kinda fired her.”

Helen sighed. “Tony, you don’t just have bipolar to deal with, you have PTSD as well. You can’t deal with this alone.”

“I’m not alone,” he argued. “I have people. I’m fine.”

“You know, most people who say they’re fine, usually aren’t. I’m concerned.  A therapist could not only help you with your PTSD but also help you come to terms with your bipolar.”

“Can we just not talk about this?” Tony asked. “Just give me my shot and let me feel like crap for the next week.”

She leaned back against the table. “I know you don’t like the injection, but we need to give it time. If, in a few more months, you still have side effects, then we’ll try something else. Your habit of noncompliance has led to injections being the only real option here, Tony. It’s narrowed the field a lot.”

He knew she was right, though he was loathed to admit it. He’d brought this on himself.

“Alright, it’s ready,” she said, holding the syringe.

Tony sighed but pushed himself up from the couch and walked over to the table, leaning against it.

“You know, if you relax, it won’t hurt as much.” He could practically hear the smile in her voice.

“It’s an inch and half long needle,” Tony replied. “It’s gonna hurt either way.”

She hummed as she tugged the hem of his sweats and boxers down enough to expose his hip, and then after a quick swipe of an alcohol pad, she stabbed in the needle. Tony held his breath, tensing the whole time. He hated needles.

“There. All done,” Helen said, putting a band-aid over the spot.

Tony tugged his pants back up and turned to face her. “Thanks.”

She smiled weakly. “I know you’re going through a stressful time right now. It can’t be easy, so I would like to ask Friday to track your habits for me again like we did before. I want to stay ahead of any possible problems. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah, sure, why not,” he sighed. “Friday, you heard the lady. Initiate Missing Marbles protocol.”

“Protocol initiated, Boss.”

“Alright, Tony,” Dr. Cho said. “I think I’ve bothered you enough for one day. I’ll be in touch, though, and Tony, you’re not alone—not anymore. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out. You don’t need to suffer.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll see you soon. Call if you need anything.”

He nodded and watched her walk out of the room.

He already had knot forming from the shot. She’d stabbed higher than usual, practically on his hip. The hem of his sweats rode perfectly on the spot, irritating it even more. It was going to be a long month.

xXx

Bucky watched as Dr. Cho slipped out of the building. He was curious about why Tony needed a doctor. Was he sick? Bucky didn’t like to think that something was wrong with the man who T’Challa had said actively tried to clear his name. He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around why Tony had wanted to help him at all. After what he’d done, _after what Winter had done_ , the last person Bucky ever thought who would want to help him would be Tony Stark, yet against all his assumptions, the man proved him wrong. He had given Bucky another chance—a chance some would say he didn’t deserve.

He heard footsteps coming up behind him. He didn’t need to look to know they belonged to Steve; he had a familiar stride and certain weight to his step Bucky would recognize anywhere.

“The doctor leaving?” Steve asked, slipping an arm around his waist.

Bucky nodded, leaning into Steve’s side. “What do you think she wants with Tony?”

“Maybe they’re working on a project together,” Steve suggested.

Bucky considered that for a minute. He supposed Steve could be right, but the way the engineer looked, the frailness to him when they arrived, told Bucky otherwise. He looked like a breeze could blow him over. It was strange, but he was worried about the man that he’d barely met.

“Maybe,” Bucky replied, turning to look at Steve. “But you think if he were sick, he’d say something to us, right?”

Steve drew a breath, then sighed. “Honestly, I doubt it. Tony’s never been one to let people take care of him, even when he needed it. I think he prefers to handle things alone, so don’t worry about it. I’m sure he’s fine. You don’t know him like I do. You’ll get used to it.”

“With everything he’s done for us, even after we what we did to him, leaving him there in the bunker, I feel like we owe him more,” Bucky said. “I owe him more. If it weren’t for him, I would probably be locked up on the raft.”

Steve leaned in, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s temple.

“It’s just … I know it isn’t going to be easy, but I think we need to fix this. Something’s wrong, Steve. I feel it.”

Steve sighed. “You’re right. We came here to make things right. We all did. Tell you what. I’ll try talking to him.”

Bucky leaned in, kissing him. “Thank you."

“Not a problem,” Steve said, running a hand up and down Bucky’s back. “Tony and I need to talk anyway. We didn’t exactly leave things on great terms. I don’t like having bad blood between us.”

He nodded and gave Steve a weak smile. “That’s all I’m asking. I’m gonna hit the gym. You wanna come?”

“No, I’m gonna go make sure the others are settled,” Steve said. “Then maybe go down and check on Tony. Ma always told me not to hide from my problems—might as well test the waters.”

xXx

Steve walked down to the workshop. Reaching out, he tried the door, but it was locked.

“Friday?” Steve asked.

“Afternoon, Captain Rogers,” the AI spoke. “What can I assist you with?”

“I came to speak with Tony, but his workshop’s locked. Any chance you could help me out with that?”

“I’m afraid not, Captain,” she replied. “He has initiated a lockdown.”

“What? Why?” Steve asked. “Is he okay?”

“He is in no immediate danger and is being monitored. That's all I’m at liberty to say.”

Steve sighed. “Is he sick? Is that why the doctor was here?"

"I’m afraid I can't answer that. I suggest you speak to him directly.”

Steve didn’t like the sound of that at all. It gave him an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Thinking back on what Bucky had said, Tony hadn’t looked well. He looked thinner, and his skin was paler. Tony looked worn out—run down. Tony always kept a neat appearance, but this morning his hair was a mess, his clothes were too big, and the way he looked at them all … Steve swore he saw a flash of fear in his eyes. It hurt him to think Tony was afraid of them—of anyone. He was always so strong.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there in thought before the door to the workshop opened.

He looked up and saw Tony standing with his hands tucked in the pocket of his hoodie. The room was a disaster. There were tools, scraps of metal, and parts scattered across the floor. There were coffee cups upon coffee cups sitting everywhere, and his bots were whirring around, pushing the debris across the floor. The man standing in front of him looked like a stranger—only a shade of the man he once knew.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I can't stop myself from putting this up. It might be all up in the next day at this rate. Enjoy!

“Boss, Captain Rogers is outside the door inquiring about your wellbeing.”

Tony sighed. He was feeling a little dizzy, maybe it was from the shot, or perhaps it was from not eating enough and the lack of sleep—probably all of it. Listing the possibilities made him feel even more like a mess.

“Don’t tell him anything,” Tony said. “Just give me a minute to think.”

He’d put the workshop in lockdown earlier because he didn’t want to face them. Seeing them had sent him into a tailspin. He felt like he was losing control. He didn’t know what he was expecting to happen, bringing them all back together. Maybe he thought it would fix things, that facing them— _facing Steve_ —would give him some peace, but this didn’t feel like peace. His anxiety was reaching new heights.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Let him in, Fri,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat.

The door opened, and Tony looked up. Steve had his thumbs hooked in his pockets, and his shoulders were turned in like he was trying to look smaller, less intimidating. It wasn’t working.

“Hey.” Steve smiled. “Can we talk?”

Tony shrugged, looking to the floor and nudging a piece of metal with his foot. He was tired and didn’t have the strength for an argument. “There’s nothing to talk about. You’re cleared of charges, even Bucky. I saw to it myself.”

“I wanted to talk about us.”

“You want to talk about us?” he asked. “What we had—or almost had—is gone. You picked. You got what you wanted. I don’t need your pity or whatever the hell you’re here for now.”

The anger he'd long forgotten came boiling back to the surface.

“I’m sorry, Tony.” Steve took a step closer, making Tony’s heart hammer in his chest. He could feel the shield cutting into him again. It hurt to breathe.

“If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have left me to die! You would have told me about my parents—not let me get blindsided by some psycho!"

Steve’s posture straightened, looking more commanding. “If you’re this angry, why did you help us then? Why did you help Bucky? No one asked you to!” Steve’s hands were clenched in fists, and Tony couldn’t help but flinch as he remembered the fight in the Siberia.

And then his chest tightened, and his breaths began coming in pants. Not now, he cursed himself. He didn’t need to fall apart—not in front of him. Tony tried to slow his breathing, but his chest hurt—the scar from Steve’s shield hurt. He pressed a hand to it, wanting the memories to stop.

“This isn’t what I came to see you for. I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight.” Steve was talking, but the words weren’t sinking in. He was losing control—everything catching up to him at once.

He stumbled over to the couch, sitting down too quickly and yelping when the lump from his shot hit the cushion too hard. His hand went to his hip, and he hissed. He could feel the heat from the swelling through his sweats.

Steve walked over to him and crouched down, reaching out, but it only caused Tony to flinch back.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have come,” Steve said. “I’ll pack my things. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I don’t want to do this.”

“No!” Tony snapped, finding his voice. “You don’t have to go!” Damn, his own emotions were giving him whiplash. He wanted to keep him there as much as he wanted to push him away. “I just need time to adjust. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now—nothing to do with you guys.”

Steve looked down. “Honestly, Tony, why'd you help us?”

Tony ran a hand through his hair. “Because you guys deserved more than to be fugitives, and after I had time to think and talk to T’Challa, I realized that the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes were two different people. I didn’t have a right to hate an innocent man.”

Tony sighed, shifting, so his hip wasn’t pressed on the couch, hand going to touch the spot.

Steve noticed, glancing to where Tony was holding his hip.

 “Are you hurt?” Steve asked. “I’m no Banner, but maybe I can help.”

“I’m fine,” Tony lied. “It’s nothing.”

The soldier raised a brow, studying him. Tony felt himself shift under the weight of his scrutiny. He could tell Steve wasn’t buying his lie, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him the truth.

The silence was broken by Steve's sighing. “I mean it when I say thank you for everything. I’m sorry for what happened between us. I never meant to hurt you.”

Tony waved him off. “No problem. You’re forgiven.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do, so just drop it.” Tony’s tone was hard. “It’s water under the bridge and all that crap.”

“Okay.” Steve sighed. “Will you at least tell me what’s wrong? Even Bucky noticed something isn’t right, and he barely knows you.”

Tony shrugged. “Like I said, I’m fine. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna take a nap, so feel free to see yourself out.”

Tony could see the hurt flash over Steve’s face. He hated being cold to him. His heart ached, pushing him away. They’d been so close before, walking the line of friendship and relationship—leaning heavily toward relationship—but now Steve had Bucky. The ex-assassin was the jelly to Steve’s peanut butter. They were stupidly perfect for each other.

Steve stood. “You need anything before I go?”

Tony sighed. He kinda did, though he was loathed to admit it. He was feeling shitty and sore, and the ice packs were all the way across the room in the mini-fridge.

“Could you grab an ice pack from the freezer for me?” Tony asked.

Steve looked at him, concerned. “If you’re not hurt, why do you need one?”

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. “Never mind. I’ll get it. Just go.”

“No,” the soldier said. “Stay. I’ll get it. Just promise me you’re alright.”

“I’m fine, just a little sore.”

Steve nodded but walked past the debris on the floor to the fridge and pulled an ice pack from the freezer. He walked back over to Tony, handing it to him.

“Thanks,” Tony said, yawning and then placing it on his hip. It immediately felt better.

Steve studied him for a minute and then ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. “I’ll let you rest. We ordered out if you are interested. Should be here soon.”

Tony just shook his head and curled into the couch, too tired to care what he looked like. He closed his eyes and listened for Steve to leave. He heard his steps grow distant and fade, and then he drifted off to sleep.

Tony awoke a few hours later, his ice pack warm and hip sore. He really should have relaxed like the doctor suggested, probably wouldn’t hurt half as bad. Tossing the ice pack onto the couch, Tony pushed himself up to sit. He slipped his hand under the waistband of his sweats and felt for the spot the injection had been. He cringed when he felt how big the knot was and how painful it was to touch.

He stood and stretched, then walked over to the coffee maker. He grabbed one of the cleaner looking cups and poured himself a coffee. It was barely lukewarm, but he drank it anyway. He felt foggy and tired. He missed the manic energy he’d had not long ago. He’d gone from flying high and not needing sleep, inventing at all hours, to whatever the hell this was, this zombie-like state. It didn’t seem fair.

He’d gone years before with no meds, back in his twenties when he got himself into a lot of trouble, but after Afghanistan, things had changed. He gave up drinking, he saw a psychiatrist again, went into therapy—did all the right things. He was doing damn well too, but then came wormholes, Ultron, and then Siberia piling on top of his already messed up mind. He lost JARVIS. He lost his friends. He lost everything and fell into a deep depression. He quit his meds, wanting to feel something again, but it only made his depression worse, and he ended up trying to take his life—slicing open his arm from wrist to elbow.

After Pepper found him, bleeding out, he was admitted to a private facility and got back on medication. His moods settled out, and he was okay. Tony was able to gather himself and fight for his team, to amend the Accords. He did it all, but then somehow, things just started slipping again. They always did.

He started missing doses here and there, started losing sleep. He stopped eating because his stomach always felt like it was in a knot—food just didn’t settle right. He got weaker and lost weight. Pepper and Rhodey started picking up on something being wrong. He was ranting and making little sense. They threatened hospitalization if he didn’t begin complying. It was then that Dr. Cho decided that an injectable might be a good fit—leading him to his current cocktail of meds. They worked when he took them, but he still struggled to do it. There was always an excuse on the tip of his tongue—a reason he could put off taking them for another day.

He downed the last dregs of his coffee. It was bitter and cold. He glanced at his watch. It was later than he thought. Nearly six o’clock. He’d slept most of the day, yet he still felt exhausted.

He grabbed another ice pack and turned to head upstairs to his room, wanting to forget everything, to forget that look on Steve’s face when he’d cut into him. Part of him wished that things weren’t so beyond repair, but he knew they were. Even if they could find common ground, Steve had Bucky now, and he didn’t need a broken mechanic with more secrets than truths. He was a mess of scars and crazy thoughts. Tony wasn’t worth the effort. He didn’t deserve it. He was used goods, broken and tarnished.

When he got to the main hallway, he could hear the team talking in the living room. He could smell the food. His stomach hurt a little from hunger, but he wasn’t ready to face them. Steve had been enough for one day.

He slipped down the side corridor, making sure not to draw attention to himself when he literally bumped into the muscular wall of Bucky’s chest. His heart began to race—his instincts telling him to run.

“Sorry,” Tony sputtered, stepping around him. His gaze flicked up, connecting with Bucky’s gaze for a moment. How had he missed how blue his eyes were before? They reminded him of Steve’s but softer, grayer. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Are you hurt?” Bucky asked, gesturing to the ice pack.

Tony wasn’t sure what to say. He had never really spoken to Bucky before.

“Yeah, just bumped into a table,” Tony lied. “No biggie. It’ll be fine in a few days.”

Bucky tilted his head. “You’re a bad liar.”

Tony shifted, uncertain. “Right,” he said. “I’ve gotta go, so yeah. Why don’t you run off and join the rest of the Scooby Gang for dinner?”

Bucky’s brows knit in confusion.

“Never mind. I forget the things you’ve missed out on.” Tony shook his head. “Anyway, go eat. I’ll see you around.”

“Wait,” Bucky said, stopping his escape. “I was planning on talking to you later, but I guess now’s as good a time as any. I just wanted to thank you—for everything. You gave me another chance. You didn’t have to, but you did.”

Tony put up his hand to stop him. “Don’t. Really. It wasn’t your fault, and as for what happened in Siberia … I’m sorry. It was just a shock, too much all at once, and I lost control. It was my fault—”

“No! It wasn’t your fault,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Anyone would have reacted the same way.”

The cold from the ice pack was stinging his hand, keeping him grounded. He focused on it, centering himself.

“Look, no use crying over spilt milk,” Tony said. “It happened, and we can’t change it, so just make yourself at home. If you need anything, just ask Friday.”

Bucky nodded. “Thank you.”

“Like I said,” he said. “It’s all good. Go grab some food and visit with Steve and your friends. God knows how much you super soldiers need to eat.” He chuckled dryly.

A frown tugged at the corners of Bucky’s mouth. “They’re your friends, too.”

Thankfully, before he needed to respond, Friday spoke up.

“Sir,” Friday said. “Mr. Hogan has dropped off the items you requested. They are in your room.”

“Thanks, Fri,” Tony replied. “Good talking to you, but I gotta go. See you around.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He just brushed by Bucky and headed toward his room. He felt an overwhelming need to escape. He had grown accustomed to being alone. He wasn’t used to casual chit chat.

Once he was safely in his room, he relaxed, his breaths coming easier. He glanced over at his dresser. There was a small paper bag sitting on top. He walked over and picked it up, glancing inside—his prescriptions. He groaned and pulled open the drawer. He grabbed what he needed and stuffed them into the bag—not forgetting to grab the pill sorter.

Begrudgingly, he trudged over to the bed and tossed it all down. He took the ice pack and tucked it under his waistband, where he’d gotten the injection. Carefully, he settled down onto the bed and dumped out the contents of the bag.

He popped open all the compartments of the pill sorter and then went about the tedious task of divvying everything out. It looked like a box of sad, rejected skittles by the time he was done, all ugly pinks, blues, and whites. He clicked all the compartments closed, satisfied he was done for the next week.

He gathered up his mess and dumped it all back into the dresser drawer, careful not to knock around the sorter too hard. He’d accidentally knocked it open before and spilled the contents in a giant mess—not something he wanted to repeat.

He walked back over to the bed and laid down, an ice pack on his ass. He groaned into the pillows. The coffee wasn’t settling well in his stomach, but he couldn’t very well sneak to the kitchen without everyone seeing him.

He ignored his stomach and closed his eyes, letting himself fall asleep. Thankfully he didn’t dream—or if he did—he didn’t remember it.

What felt like all too soon, Friday’s voice was waking him up. He groaned, cursing at his AI.

“Sorry, Boss, but as per protocol, I’m required to wake you to take your medication. Also, your caloric intake is far too low for a male your age. I recommend you eat, or I will need to make a note for Dr. Cho.”

Tony rubbed his eyes. “Traitor.”

“Should I remind you who programmed me?”

He grumbled. “What time is it?”

“It’s 11:32p.m.”

His head was pounding. “Ugh. Where is everyone?” He didn’t want to leave his room if it meant facing them.

“Everyone but Captain Rogers has retired to their quarters.”

“Great, and where is the good Captain?”

“He’s in the kitchen drinking hot cocoa.”

Tony rolled his eyes. That was so Steve.

He rolled out of bed and grabbed the pill sorter from the drawer, popping open the compartment he needed. He dumped them into his hand and stuffed the sorter back inside. He could swallow them dry, but he had quite a few pills to take at night, and he hated when they got stuck in his throat.

Grasping the pills tightly in his hand, he walked out of his room and toward the kitchen. It was dark; the lights of the compound were all dimmed just enough to see. As he rounded the corner, though, he saw that the kitchen was well lit, and just like Friday had said, Steve was there at the counter, a cup of hot cocoa in his hand, reading a book.

He must have heard Tony coming because he glanced over his shoulder at him. Tony gripped the pills tighter like it would somehow help hide them—hide how broken he was.

“Rogers,” Tony said as he walked casually to the fridge. He got himself a bottle of water, twisting off the cap. He took a sip and then turned, walking quickly back towards his room.

“Tony, wait,” Steve called after him. “I’m sorry.”

Tony froze for a moment. His heart clenching in his chest. He swallowed and turned to look at Steve. He looked tired, the kind of tired that wasn’t fixed by sleep. Tony felt bad for him. He knew that feeling all too well.

“Stop saying that. I’m past apologizes. Look, I think we should just stay away from each other,” Tony found himself saying. “It’s not like this place isn’t big enough to avoid each other.” He set his water down on the counter.

“What if I don’t want to stay away from you?” Steve’s tone wasn’t his usual. It was softer—timider. “Maybe I like being around you.”

Steve’s words make something ache in Tony—bringing back feelings he’d tried hard to bury, to suffocate. He had to remind himself that Steve wasn’t his—he never really was.

“Don’t.” Tony shook his head, putting up a hand. “Just don’t, okay? It’s better this way. You don’t understand. I’m not good for you—hell, I’m not good for anyone. I was selfish before. I thought—it doesn’t matter. I won’t make that mistake again. Just stay away from me.”

“Jesus, Tony,” Steve said, setting his cup down. He got up and walked toward him. “Where is this coming from?”

Tony bit at his lip, shaking his head. Nope. He didn’t want to have this conversation.

“Talk to me,” Steve pleaded.

“It’s nothing. Just drop it.” His chest felt tight, and he pressed his hand to the scar from Steve’s shield again, remembering the weight of it as it dug into him. “I just need some sleep. I need to breathe,” he said as his heart began to pound. He needed to just take his medication and go bed.

“What’s wrong?” Steve looked so fucking concerned it hurt. He shouldn’t look that way because of him. “Why was Dr. Cho here?”

“None of your business,” he snapped, running his hand through his hair. “You don’t have a right to worry about me.”

He pushed past Steve, grabbing his abandoned water and popping the pills into his mouth, washing them down quickly with a few gulps. He pressed the cold bottle to his temple, trying to soothe the growing headache behind his eyes. He jumped when he felt a hand touch his back.

“Tony, are you sick?” Steve’s voice was softer than he could ever remember it being. It just made that feeling that he wanted to forget grow brighter, louder, and he hated that he couldn’t control it. It fucking hurt.

“I can’t do this,” Tony said. “Go to Bucky. He’s probably waiting up for you. Just leave me alone.”

He expected his words to push the man away, but they didn’t. The hand on his back stayed like a gentle weight. It seemed to root his feet in place, keeping him from escaping.

“Just because I have Bucky,” Steve said. “Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

Tony shook his head. “You shouldn’t. Hate me, anything, but don’t care. It would make everything so much easier on everyone if you didn’t bother.”

The hand on his back seemed moved to his shoulder. “You can’t make me stop caring about you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Captain. If you knew half of how messed I really was, you’d run for the fucking hills.”

“Try me,” Steve challenged.

Tony stared him down, gritting his teeth. “Maybe some other time.” The fight was beginning to leave him as the Valium kicked in. “I need to get to bed.”

He went to walk out of the kitchen, but Friday was quick to speak.

“Boss, as per current protocol, I need to remind you to eat, or it will be noted and reported.”

Steve looked at Tony. “What does that mean?”

“It means my AI has no tact or timing,” Tony said. “And is also a _huge_ tattletale.”

“The current protocol was enacted for your own health and—”

“Mute,” Tony snapped. “Before you ask, I’m fine. Friday’s being dramatic—the apple didn’t fall far from the tree there. Anyway, I’m going to bed.”

He went to leave the kitchen, but a large and slightly intimidating super soldier stepped into his path.

“What did Friday mean, your health and what, safety? And don’t think I missed you taking that handful of pills, then there are the ice packs. What’s going on? We have a right to know as your team, your friends, if you’re sick or hurt.”

“Trust me. It’s not that important. It’s nothing new. I’m just usually better at hiding it.” Tony rubbed his eyes. “The people who need to know, do. Now let me go to bed. I’m tired.”

“I want to know,” Steve said softly. “I want to help. Just let me make you something to eat. I don’t know what’s going on, but Friday said you needed to eat, so I’m not leaving you alone until you do.”

His stomach ached, his head hurt, his ass cheek was throbbing, and even though he wanted to argue, he felt like shit, so he found himself nodding and climbing onto one the stools at the counter.

“Anything you want in particular? There’s eggs,” Steve said, opening the fridge.

“That’s fine,” Tony replied, resting his head on the cold marble countertop, hoping it would soothe the ache.

He listened to Steve puttering away as he cooked. He’d started drifting off when a plate was nudged against his arm.

“Eat up.”

Tony groaned and stretched, wincing when he shifted wrong, and the chair pushed against the sore lump. Maybe next time he’d opt for the arm.

“You okay? Seems painful.” Steve was leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.

Tony picked up his fork and poked at the pile scrambled eggs. “Little sore.”

Steve nodded. “You wanna tell me about it.”

“Not really.” He wanted to, though. He wished he could. He missed people—despite the fact he spent most of his energy pushing them away.

Tony pushed the eggs around the plate. Nothing seemed to have flavor. It wasn’t Steve’s cooking. It was just him. He felt numb.

“They’ll taste better warm,” Steve said. “Push them around all you want, but I am not leaving you until I see you eat some.”

Tony sighed. He didn’t know what black hole he’d fallen into, but this was pretty messed up. He didn’t expect to have Steve cooking him eggs at nearly midnight and hovering like a mother hen.

He took a small bite, chewed, and then swallowed mechanically, repeating until they were mostly gone, then pushed his plate away. His stomach felt a little better. He was dizzy, though. The meds were meant to be taken close to bedtime as they knocked him out.

“Thanks,” Tony said, blinking tiredly. He was feeling out of it. “I’m gonna go to bed. You should, too.”

He pushed himself from the stool, grabbing the counter to steady himself. He squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of dizziness hit him. He heard Steve walk closer, and then a hand was on his shoulder.

“Come on, let me help you get to bed.”

If Tony had felt better, less like he was gonna greet the floor face first, he might have had protested or pulled away, but at that moment, he only wanted the room to stop spinning. Steve’s strong arm slipped around him, pulling him against his solid body. He kept him steady as they walked.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you,” Steve said. “But I’m not leaving you to handle whatever this is alone. I’m here for you, Tony, whether you like it or not. We all are.”

Tony opened his mouth to argue but decided against it. Instead, he let the larger man guide him to his bedroom. Tony wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he liked the closeness. It had been a long time since he was close to anyone. He missed feeling the warmth of another person. He missed Steve.

He just grumbled when Steve gently nudged him down into the bed. Giving in, he crawled under the covers and tried to not think how pathetic he must look. He didn’t even hear Steve leave before he fell asleep.

Tony awoke the next morning to someone shaking him by the shoulder. His head was pounding, and he felt hungover.

“Come on, Tones,” the voice said. “Time to wake up.”

He knew that voice. It took him a minute, but he pried his eyes open and blinked wearily at the man sitting beside him on the bed.

“Hey, Rhodey Bear.” Tony cleared his throat. “To what do I owe the pleasure? I’ve been a good boy, promise, scout’s honor.”

“Did you forget that you initiated the Marbles Protocol? Pepper and I both get notified when that happens. What’s going on, Tones? Talk to me.”

Tony sighed. A lot was going on, but nothing that he wanted to talk to anyone about. “I’m not going to off myself if that’s what you’re worried about. My tank’s just running a bit low.”

Rhodey nodded. “I spoke to Dr. Cho. She’s concerned. She said you’ve lost weight again. You’re off your meds.”

Tony raised a finger to object. “Was,” he said. “I started them back up.”

Rhodey nodded. “You know what I think? I think having the team back might be too much for you right now.”

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. It was too early for this shit. He shifted, getting himself propped up against the headboard. “It’s not their fault. It’s just me, Rhodey,” Tony said. “The meds make me feel like shit, and the team only knows the fake me—the medicated me. They don’t know what a fucking mess I am. I just so tired—tired of everything.”

“Tony,” Rhodey said. “The medication doesn’t make you someone else. They help you from getting like this, getting depressed. Is that why you keep going off them?”

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, that and sometimes I’ll start feeling better, and I feel I don’t need them anymore, and maybe sometimes I miss the mania. I know. You don’t need to lecture me. Mania is not my friend.”

Rhodey let out a breath. “So, how are things going with the team being back?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said. “Weird. Steve and Bucky already seem to notice something’s up.”

“Have you thought about opening up to the team a little?”

“Are you serious?” Tony snapped. “They would never look at me the same way if they knew.”

“It was just a suggestion. We both know they’re nosey fuckers, and if you’re gonna have them here long term, I think you should talk to them. There’s nothing wrong with having a mental illness—not something to be ashamed about.”

“Could you just stop that?” Tony asked. “Stop saying it like that—stop saying I have something wrong with me!”

“There’s nothing wrong being bipolar or having PTSD,” Rhodey said. “Why does it bother you so much to hear?”

Tony looked away. He knew exactly why it bothered him. His father had beaten it into him—that it wasn’t okay to be sick. It was a weakness—something he needed to hide at all costs.

“Tones?”

He looked to Rhodey. “It was Howard. He made it clear with his fists that Stark men aren’t like that—Stark men aren’t weak.”

“Shit, Tony.” Rhodey ran a hand over his face. “I knew he had some rough edges, but I didn’t realize. You got to know how wrong he was. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know in a way, but then at the same time, I can still hear him in my head. It’s fucked up. I’m fucked up. What can I say?”

“Say you’ll stop calling yourself fucked up. Say you’ll try to see the good in yourself,” Rhodey said. “You are really hard on yourself. You need to stop thinking you are alone in this.”

Tony huffed. “Yeah, I’ll work on it. Now, can I get out of bed?”

Rhodey chuckled. “Let’s go.”

Tony sighed and climbed from the bed. He should take a shower, but he felt like shit, and it sounded like way too many steps. He didn’t even bother looking at himself in the mirror.

“Come on, Tones,” Rhodey said. “Grab your meds, and let’s go get some food into you. You look like a walking skeleton. It’s no wonder Dr. Cho wanted tabs on you.”

Tony grumbled his annoyance but did as he was told. He put them in the pocket of his hoodie and followed Rhodey toward the kitchen.

The team was thankfully nowhere to be seen. Tony walked to the coffee maker and grabbed a cup, pouring himself a coffee. He reached in his pocket, grabbing the pills and downing them quickly with the hot liquid.

“Do I need to make you something, or can you find something on your own?” Rhodey asked.

“I’m not a child.” Tony walked over to the cupboard and dug around. There was more food. Someone must have gone shopping. He found a box of cereal and grabbed it, then snatched a bowl from the cabinet. He shook it into his bowl, making a mess on the counter but not really caring. He still felt tired—like an endless tired that no sleep could fix. He grabbed the milk and sloshed it in. Fishing a spoon from the drawer, he went to the breakfast bar to eat.

The lump from the injection made itself known when he sat. He winced.

“The injections still hurting?” Rhodey asked.

Tony just nodded. “Cho said if it keeps happening, then we get to try something else.”

Rhodey sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t need pity—brought it on myself.”

Rhodey pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible.”

“I try.” Tony smirked.

Footsteps grew closer, and Tony looked up, glancing back over his shoulder. He tensed. Steve and Bucky were walking toward him with Clint trailing behind. Perfect.

Tony went to get up, to escape, but Rhodey wasn’t letting it happen. He moved to Tony’s side and put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him from standing.

“Hey guys, how was training?” Rhodey asked as Tony curled his shoulders in, trying to disappear in his oversized hoodie.

“Great,” Clint said. “It’s good to be home.” The archer took a seat a few down from him. “No offense, Stark, but you look like shit.” Clint frowned at him. “Aren’t those the same clothes you were in yesterday?”

The sarcastic, witty Tony was still on vacation somewhere in his mind, so he just shrugged and went back to eating. He tried to hide the tremors in his hands, but his spoon still shook. He could feel Hawkeye watching him.

“Thanks for the arrows, and you know, for everything else,” Clint said. “Didn’t get much of a chance to say anything to you when we first got back. You kinda took off.”

He knew Clint was trying to edge him into a conversation, but Tony didn’t want to talk. It was nothing against the archer. He just didn’t want to talk to anyone. Needing to put some distance between himself and the reminders of the past, he pushed his bowl of cereal away and rubbed his eyes.

“Glad you liked the arrows,” he said, getting up. “You guys must be hungry from training, so I’m gonna get out of the way.” He looked to Rhodey. “I assume you’ll be staying for a few days.”

Rhodey nodded, sipping his coffee. “You know it.”

Tony got up and walked over to the fridge, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer. He wasn’t feeling inventive, and the idea of going to the workshop and facing the mess he’d created there was depressing, so he turned and padded back towards his bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter. I guess my plan for a few times a week is out the window. I think I am just nervous and want to get the proverbial band aid off as quick as I can. I apologize that chapter lengths are kinda random. I just broke the story into pieces where I felt I could. Some are longer, some shorter. The whole story together I think is around 27k words.

Bucky watched Tony walk away with the icepack, and he felt a pang of hurt. The man was suffering, something was wrong, and he was doing a crappy job of hiding it. After everything they had all been through, Bucky wished he could help Tony somehow.  He knew Steve felt the same way. Tony and Steve had been so close before. It wasn’t something Steve hid from him. He knew they had shared a connection—not unlike the one he had with Steve. Bucky knew that what went down in Siberia had damaged things, but it shocked him to see how much. The spark he remembered seeing in Tony’s eye was gone, even the anger he expected seemed off. It looked like a piece of him was missing. Guilt settled over him at the thought of the role he played in the change of the man.

Sighing, he walked up to the breakfast bar, looking around the room quickly before taking a seat. Old habits of searching for threats died hard. He grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl, turning it in his hands as he thought. He still couldn’t get the image of Tony’s empty eyes from his mind.

Steve walked up beside him, his arms crossed over his chest. Steve shifted, so he was looking at Rhodey. “You know something, don’t you? About what’s going on with Tony.”

He watched as Rhodey sipped his coffee. “Oh, I know, but I ain’t telling.”

Bucky’s head cocked to the side a bit. “So, something is wrong with him. He’s sick.”

Rhodey sighed, setting down his coffee. “I’ll just say there is more to Tony than you know.”

Clint shifted, fiddling with an apple. “Is it serious?”

“Look, guys, I know you care, but it’s not my place. He isn’t nosing around your business—stay out of his,” Rhodey said.

“You’re deflecting,” Steve said.

“No, I am honoring my friend’s privacy,” Rhodey said firmly. “Look, if you want to help him, just try to be his friend. He needs that right now. Invite him to eat with you guys. He might say no but make the offer anyway.”

Steve sighed. “He’ll be alright, won’t he?”

Rhodey rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, I think. He’s been dealing with this for a long time, but he’s got me and Pepper to help him through it.”

Bucky felt like there was a heavy stone in his stomach. Even though he barely knew the man, he felt connected to him. Whatever was wrong, it sounded concerning. He tossed the banana back it the bowl and scratched at the scruff on his face.

“And I might as well warn you,” Rhodey continued. “He’s probably going to sleep a lot the next few days—nothing to worry about. I’m not leaving until he’s more himself.”

Bucky could remember when Steve was a kid and always sick. He had fragments of memories of taking care of him—layering blanket after blanket over him trying to keep the chill off him in the cold winters. Bucky, despite what HYDRA tried to make him, was, by nature, a nurturer. Steve was, too, really. It made it hard knowing someone they both cared about was sick and hurting, and there was nothing that they could do about it.

Bucky rubbed at the shadow of a beard on his jaw. “So, is there anything else we can do—other than inviting him to eat with us?”

Rhodey sighed. “Friday’s currently watching him and reporting back to me and his doctor, but if he seems off, more than usual, let me or Pepper know.”

“He seemed pretty off when he was just here,” Clint said. “He didn’t call me birdbrain, or even an asshole—which I deserve. It’s like his spark is gone. I’ve never seen him so … _numb_. And then there’s the fact he looks like shit. He’s so thin, and I never thought I’d see the day that Tony Stark wore the same clothes twice.”

Bucky didn’t like what he was hearing. He wished he’d met the man before—seen him happy. He wished there was a way to make him happy again. He deserved it after helping them like he had. He looked like he’d aged twenty years in the short time since he’d seen him last.

“We can do that,” Bucky said, glancing at Steve and then Clint. “We’ll keep an eye on him. Least we can do for what he’s done for us.”

“Thanks, guys,” Rhodey said. “I’ve got to head to the boardroom. I have a teleconference to attend since I am staying here for a while. Even though the Accords are fixed, Ross is still a pain in my ass.”

Rhodey reached out and grabbed the cereal bowl Tony had left half-eaten, dumping it out and setting it in the sink. “I’ll try to get to dishes later. Don’t bug Tony about it.”

Bucky nodded, remembering the way Tony’s hands had shook as he tried to eat. He hadn’t eaten much of his cereal before leaving. Maybe he should make him something in a while and bring it up to him, or maybe Steve or someone else should. Bucky still wasn’t very sure how Tony felt about him. He said he’d forgiven him, that it wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t mean being around him was easy. The last thing Bucky wanted to do was to make Tony feel uncomfortable.

“I’ll take care of the dishes,” Bucky offered, getting up and walking over to the sink, turning on the water and grabbing a sponge. “It’s no problem.”

“Thanks, man,” Rhodey said, checking his watch. “Alright, I’m out of here for the meeting. If anything comes up, just have Friday get me.”

Bucky looked over his shoulder to see Steve taking a seat beside Clint. They both appeared lost in thought. He decided not to bother them and instead went about washing what was in the sink.

Dishes washed, Bucky turned to see his friends still sitting quietly. “So, what now?”

Clint picked his head up, shrugging. “I can’t stop thinking about Tony and how bad he looks right now. I was ready for a lot of things coming back—him being mad, fights breaking out. I bet Sam we’d be out in a week. It’s like he’s someone else entirely.”

“Yeah.” Steve ran his fingers through his hair. “He isn’t the same. The old Tony wouldn’t back down. Now he just seems resigned to let whatever happens, happen. And you should see his workshop. He used to take some pride in that place. It’s a disaster now—debris everywhere. Must have over twenty coffee cups littering the counters and floor. There’s no way he’s able to work in there like that.”

Clint leaned his elbows on the counter, resting his head on his hands, his expression thoughtful. “I know this might be a stretch, but I was thinking, do you think this is some kind of mental thing—like depression or something. I just mean after everything we put him through. It makes sense he might be a bit messed up in the head.”

Steve’s brows knit together. “I probably shouldn’t say anything, but I ran into him last night down here. I don’t think he wanted me to see him do it, he was pretty agitated, but I saw him taking some pills.  I don’t know what they were for, but they really knocked him out. I had to help him to bed.”

Bucky’s brows pinched together. “What do you mean, agitated? You didn’t fight with him, did you?”

Steve drew a breath, shaking his head. “We just got talking. Things got a little tense. He told me I shouldn’t care—to just hate him instead.”

Bucky walked over to Steve, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Honestly, he’s got a right to be angry about things, but I think you know that. It doesn’t mean he’ll be angry forever, though.” Bucky gave his shoulder a squeeze. “We’ll figure something out.”

Clint threw his apple core into the trash. “Want my opinion? I think we do what Rhodes said—try to offer support, don’t be a threat. I think we all had a lot of time to think over how we screwed things up while we were holed up in Wakanda. It’s obviously messed with Tony more than we know. We don’t know the details of what went on to make him like this, but Rhodey and Pepper do, so I think we need to defer to them on how to handle it.”

Bucky agreed. There was a lot they didn’t know. “Anyone else notice the hip thing?”

Steve sighed. “If you’re referring to the constant supply of ice packs, then yes.”

“He’s favoring his leg,” Clint said. “I’m sure it all ties in somehow, but I don’t see anyone willing to fill us in, so …”

Light footsteps were approaching, and they all looked up as Natasha strolled in. “Why the glum faces?”

Clint grabbed an apple and tossed it to Natasha, who polished it on her shirt. “We were just talking about Tony.”

She nodded and hummed. “If you’re talking about how terrible he looks, I agree. He doesn’t seem like the same Stark from before the fight. This whole place has a different vibe, and I caught a glimpse of him heading back to his room earlier. He was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t bothered to shower.”

“We just tried interrogating Rhodes about him,” Clint said. “But didn’t get much. We think maybe he’s depressed or something.”

“He might be.” Natasha took a bite of her apple, chewing it slowly as she thought. “Though I never saw a mention of mental illness in his file other than PTSD, it could be something new.”

Clint shook his head. “Not from the way Rhodes was talking. He made it sound like Tony’s always had this going on, and we just never saw it until now.”

“Tony’s a master at keeping up a mask,” Natasha said. “I hate to say it because I’m just as guilty as any of you, but we never did try to get too close to him. We accepted his false front. We let him keep us at a distance. Maybe it’s time to change that.”

Her words hit home with Bucky. He knew what it was like to pretend you’re okay when you’re not. There were some days that he would put on a good face for Steve—not wanting to drag him down with his own demons. He wondered if Natasha was right. If all Tony’s bravado had been just a front and he was hurting underneath.  

Bucky’s head picked up as he heard the distant sound of a door opening and closing, followed by the sound of footsteps making their way down the hall. He walked out of the kitchen area and peered around the corner. Tony was trying to slip by, heading for his workshop. He looked the same as he did before, disheveled, looking worn and frail. Bucky couldn’t believe that this was the man he’d fought in Siberia. There was no life in him now. He seemed hollow. His eyes looked dead as they glanced over to meet his. Tony didn’t hold his gaze long, though. He quickly looked to the floor and scurried away. Bucky watched the way Tony walked. He was definitely favoring his hip.

He watched him until he disappeared and then returned his focus to the kitchen.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another one. There are some feelings in this. I hope you like it. :)

After Tony’s encounter with everyone in the kitchen, he headed back to his room, plopping down on his bed and putting the ice pack on his hip. Last month, it had taken nearly a week for the swelling to go down. He felt flushed and a little dizzy still, but he knew that would go away soon. It always took a bit to readjust to the meds after he quit them. Feeling the way he did now, he wished he hadn’t stopped in the first place. It was like falling off the wagon and having to start over at day one. It felt like he was standing at the bottom of a mountain looking up at the climb ahead. It took so long to reach the point of therapeutic levels. It wasn’t fair, but he only had himself to blame.

He felt tired but not at the same time. He felt antsy and agitated yet sleepy and ready for bed. He wanted to collapse, but his mind wouldn’t stop. He wished he could sleep without the risk of nightmares, if just for a break from the stress around him. Having everyone back under one roof was hard. He knew his team was incredibly perceptive, and by now, they had probably noticed he wasn’t entirely his old self, having instead been replaced by the icepack loving zombie he’d become.

Honestly, it was pretty much some kind of miracle that he never had an episode like this before when they’d lived together. Even with meds, he cycled a few times a year. Most had come to believe that the eccentric, crazy, no sleep needing Tony was the real man. It wasn’t, though. When he was like that, it was usually an episode of mania to some degree, and when he crashed after the high, he would just hide away in his workshop until it passed—people assuming he was just productive. It was rare that he couldn’t manage things, but after Siberia, he had fallen deep, so deep he’d tried slicing his wrist—the scar of which still stood bright on his left arm.

Truthfully, he thought he’d been doing better, but now looking back, Tony could see how he’d been slipping, cracking from lack of sleep, withering from the lack of nutrients because he couldn’t stomach food—eating felt like a waste of time some days. He’d been going and going, but part of him knew that what goes up, must come down, and now he was crashing hard.

He pulled a pillow from beside him and stuffed it under his head. He sighed, closing his eyes and hoping to get some kind of rest—even if it wasn’t real sleep. His mind wouldn’t shut up, though, supplying a million and one scenarios about how his old team would react to finding out the truth about him. He thought of their pitying looks and their faux concern. He cringed as he thought of Steve and how he would probably try apologizing like it was somehow his fault.

“Friday, can you call Pepper's personal for me,” he asked, rolling onto his back.

“Of course, Boss,” Friday replied.

A moment later, Pepper’s voice came over the speaker. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t panic. I just”—Tony struggled for what he wanted to say—“I don’t know. I guess I was just feeling alone and wanted to hear a friendly voice.”

“You know you can always talk to me, Tony, but isn’t Rhodey there?” she asked.

“Yeah, he’s here.” Tony rubbed his eyes. “I talked to him earlier. He thinks I should tell the team.”

“Oh, wow. That’s a big step. Are you thinking of doing it?”

“I don’t know. The more I think about it, the more stressed I get. I doubt they’ll ever trust me in the field again if they know the truth.”

“Stop. You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Pepper said. “You know I’m not their biggest fan, but I’d like to think they’re better than that. They used to be your friends.” He heard her sigh. “Maybe Rhodey is right. It might not hurt to open up a little, and if it does go wrong, they’ll have me to face.”

Tony sighed. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it. It’s just everything is a mess. I’m starting to crash, and I can’t seem to pull myself together.” He paused. “They’re already noticing something’s off about me.”

“No matter what happens, it’s gonna be okay.”

“It’s not, though. They look at me like I’m gonna fall apart, and honestly, I can’t blame them,” Tony said. “I look like shit. I haven’t showered. I haven’t even changed in two days. I feel like everything is just too much to deal with. I can’t even seem to put on a happy face and fake it this time.”

“Tony.” Her voice was gentle yet firm. “You’re stressing yourself out—making this a bigger deal than it has to be. It doesn’t matter what they think, and it’s okay to have bad days. The only thing you need to do right now is to take care of yourself. I know you hate putting yourself first, but that’s what you need to do right now. It doesn’t make you weak.”

It didn’t feel that way, though. He could still remember Howard, shouting at him to snap out of it and be a man. He could remember him shouting that he was a freak and didn’t deserve the Stark name.

“I just feel so tired, Pep.” Tony sighed. “I want to sleep the world away. I hate feeling like this.”

“I promise, Tony. It won’t last forever. If you want, I can call Dr. Cho and let her know how you’re feeling. Maybe you need a little med adjustment.”

Tony closed his eyes. His throat felt tight. He wanted to cry. He didn’t want more medications. That was the first thing everyone said. Have you taken your meds? Maybe you need an adjustment.

“Tony, talk to me. Don’t be upset.”

“I’m fine.” He closed his eyes. “Call Cho. It’s fine.”

“Good,” she said. “Now, why don’t you take a nap or go tinker in your shop. It might help you feel better.”

Tony drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I guess I can go clean up my mess.”

“Don’t forget to take a break for lunch, okay?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony said. “Friday’s making sure I behave. She’ll tattle if I don’t.”

He heard her sigh. “I’m sorry, Tony. I know you don’t like being watched, but we, _I_ , can’t lose you. Knowing Friday is watching helps me sleep at night, and it’s not forever. It’s just until you start to feel a little better.”

Tony made a noncommittal noise. “I’ll talk to you later, Pep,” he said, pushing up from the bed. “I’m going to go clean the workshop.”

He slipped out of his room and headed toward his shop. He felt like someone was watching him, and when he glanced over, he saw Bucky. Their eyes locked for a moment. The soldier was staring at him. Tony quickly looked away and ducked his head, hurrying down the hall.

He slipped inside the door to his workshop and surveyed the damage he’d done. It was still a mess, but his bots had tried their best to clean up. He walked over to where most of the nuts and bolts were strewn across the floor. He lowered himself down to sit, stretching his legs out in front of him and began sorting the odds and ends, making little piles by sizes and types. He found their containers and got them all back where they went.

He drew up his knees and leaned against the cabinet. His mind was filled with gruesome thoughts. Intrusive thoughts, his former therapist had labeled them. He tried to ignore them, but they were vivid and persistent—flashes of things he wished to forget, things he didn’t want to do, but his mind showed him anyway. Horrific things that made him feel wrong for thinking. He pulled his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie and curled into himself. He knew it would be pointless to try and pull up schematics to try and work on anything meaningful. His mind wouldn’t let him. He was trapped in his head by his own unique brand of crazy.

He buried his face in his knees and tried to stop himself from crying.

There was a knock on the workshop door.

“Who is it, Fri?”

“It’s Captain Rogers, sir.”

He sighed, wondering what he had done in a past life to deserve the shit that kept getting shoveled his way. He didn’t want to see Steve. The man was a reminder of what almost could have been, of what he wished he could still have. Looking at him sent simultaneous pangs of loss and fear through him. It was such a twisted feeling—to want something but fear it at the same time. Steve wasn’t his to want, though. He had Bucky now, and he needed to remember that. When the shield had dug into his chest, Steve made his choice, and it wasn’t him. He had to find a way to be okay with that.

“Hang on,” he said, pushing himself to his feet, grimacing at the stabbing pain in his hip. Once he was standing, he spoke. “Alright, let him in.”

Steve stepped inside, his hands in his pockets. His gaze flitted over Tony, assessing. “Though I’d come down and invite you up for lunch. The team ordered Thai, but I can make you something else if you want.”

He didn’t get Steve. He didn’t understand what the soldier wanted from him. Why couldn’t he just leave him alone? Unable to hold his gaze, Tony looked away. “I’m fine. I had a late breakfast.”

“You barely finished it.” Steve’s mouth turned down in a frown.

Tony crossed his arms. “What, you’re keeping track of my meals now, too?”

“Tony, it isn’t like that, and you know it.” Steve sounded tired. “I didn’t come to fight. We all haven’t had a chance to hang out since we got back. It seemed like a chance to kill two birds with one stone.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said. “Go hang out with the team. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re part of the team, too,” Steve said, his voice soft. “I just wish there was a way I could get you to believe it.”

He scoffed. “You’re better off without me. I don’t come recommended.”

“Can you just stop that, putting yourself down? Sure, you have some personality quirks, which one of us doesn’t? But we want you around. We came back to try and make things right. We know we made mistakes. I know I did,” Steve said. He was looking at him with too much concern, his eyes too soft, and it irked him. He didn’t need sympathy or whatever it was Steve was trying to shove his way. “We want to do the right thing here— _I want to do the right thing_.”

“Always the boy scout.”

Steve sighed, head shaking. His voice was quiet when he spoke next. “We talked to Rhodey this morning after you left.”

Tony’s head snapped up, and he felt his blood run cold.

Steve must have noticed his panic because he was quick to speak again. “Don’t worry, he didn’t say much. Just that you could use some friends right now. Don’t be too mad at him. He was only trying to help.”

Tony clenched his jaw. He didn’t like being discussed. He didn’t need pity. “I think we’re done here.” He left no room for argument. He was finished with the conversation. He just wanted to be left alone.

Steve let a breath, shaking his head. “Come on, Tony. Don’t be like that. Come eat at least. I know you must be hungry. You barely touched your cereal.”

“Why do you care?” Tony snapped, maybe a bit too harshly. He could see the way his words hurt Steve, causing him to flinch back, but part of him didn’t care. The pain and loss were still too fresh. “I told you not to bother.”

“I care because you’re important to me, and I’m not going to stop. Leaving you in the bunker, hurting you, I wish every day that I could take it back. We all screwed up. We made mistakes. I know you say it’s fine now, but it’s not. I’ve seen the fear in your eyes. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Tony cringed back from his words. Subconsciously, he brought a hand up to the scar on his chest and pressed against it, feeling the spot the shield cut, remembering the pain. It felt like everything was starting to close in, his vision getting dark around the edges. It was like he could feel the shield slamming into him all over again. He tried to settle his nerves, to keep breathing. He was not going to fall apart in front of Steve—he needed to be stronger than that.

“Why do you do that?” Steve asked, pulling him from his attempts to calm himself.

Tony snapped his gaze to him. “What?”

Steve gestured to where Tony was pressing a hand to his chest. “That, holding your chest. Does it hurt?”

Tony dropped his hand, flexing it at his side. He swallowed dryly. “Just a habit. It’s nothing.”

Steve frowned. “It’s not nothing, though, is it? That’s where my—that’s where my shield ... .”

Tony drew a breath, running a hand through his hair. He needed space. Why was his workshop so small? Why couldn’t he breathe? He began to pace, counting his steps—anything to distract himself.

“It is, isn’t it? I really hurt you.”

Tony turned to face him. “Yeah, so what? You want a gold star for figuring it out?”

“Tony, please—”

“Don’t you have food to go eat or something? Have people waiting for you?”

Steve sighed, looking defeated. “I can say I’m sorry a thousand times, and it’ll still mean nothing, but just give me a chance to prove to you I care—that we all care. Let us— _let me_ —show you.”

Tony didn’t know what to say. He was so fucking tired, and to make his life worse, there was a war raging inside him. Part of him wanted to rage at Steve, hurt him like he’d been hurt, make him feel his pain, but another missed their friendship, missed what almost had been, craving the comfort that used to be there. Fighting him took so much strength, made him feel so much worse. It took energy he didn’t have. He knew he was playing with fire, letting himself crave what they had. It wasn’t going to end well for him if he did, yet he found himself wanting to believe it could happen—that something could be salvaged.

He took a breath to steady himself, staring into Steve’s eyes. “You want the truth?”

Steve nodded. “Of course, I do.”

A part of him was screaming to turn heel and run, to stop before he made a mistake that would change everything, but another part of him was just so exhausted from it all. If he told Steve the truth, maybe he’d get it—maybe he’d understand that he wasn’t worth it. Perhaps it would scare him away enough that he would leave him alone and he wouldn’t have to look at him anymore—save him from the constant reminder of what he didn’t have. Or maybe, just maybe, it could be a beginning.

“I don’t know where to start,” Tony said, taking a breath. “I’ve thought this over a thousand times, and I still don’t know how to say it—put it into words that make sense.”

Steve nodded. “Sometimes, it’s easier to just let yourself talk—try not to overthink it too much.”

Tony rubbed at the scar on his chest, looking anywhere but at Steve. He couldn’t look into his eyes right now. “I’m a mess. I’m screwed up—more than the average person. I have _issues_. I don’t know how to say it. This is stupid.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Tony, look at me,” Steve said firmly. Tony glanced up. The soldier’s face was open and understanding. He didn’t feel like he deserved it. “It’s gonna be okay.”

He felt like he should back out—stop himself before he said too much. It was a bad idea, and he knew it. He had always played his cards close to his chest for a reason. It kept him safe. Revealing them to Steve had the potential to break him.

He swallowed, his mouth dry. “I’m fucked up, alright? I have this _thing_.” He averted his gaze, feeling shame wash over him. “People always joke about how crazy I am, but no one knows how true it is. My head’s a scary place. There are times I don’t even understand myself.”

“What are you saying?”

Tony laughed; it held no warmth. “I’m saying that I need to take pills every day, and I get a shot once a month just to keep me from flying myself straight into the ocean or becoming so manic I start thinking I’m the messiah.”

He glanced back at Steve—not sure what he expected to see. The man was just standing there, just fucking standing there, looking at him like someone had just shot a puppy two feet in front of him. Tony couldn’t look at him. It was too much. Whatever Steve was thinking, he didn’t want to know. This was why he never wanted to tell people. He didn’t want to face their reactions.

After a minute, Steve finally seemed to break from his thoughts as his brows pinched together. “Does it have a name? What you have?”

Tony hated saying it. It made his stomach twist. He knew he shouldn’t feel ashamed of something beyond his control, but it was built into him by his father—it was in his coding.

“Bipolar,” Tony said just above a whisper. “With an extra helping of PTSD on the side.”

Steve nodded. “So, this bipolar is why you—”

“Look like shit?” Tony guessed, interrupting him. “Yeah, pretty much. I have episodes—some easier to hide than others. I got sloppy with my meds, and now I’m paying the price. Things are kind of rough at the moment.”

Steve looked thoughtful. “Are you back on them now, the medication? Are those the pills I saw you taking?”

“Yeah, and that’s why Dr. Cho was here,” Tony said. “The shot she gave me helps quiet my mind and settle my moods. It also leaves a huge welt and makes me tired as hell for days. She’s got Friday watching me, making sure I take them, making sure I eat, reporting back to her. They don’t trust me when I get depressed. I don’t blame them after what I did.”

Apparently, he was experiencing a case of verbal diarrhea because he was spilling all his secrets in rapid succession. Something about the way Steve seemed to genuinely care had made him lower his guard.

“What did you do?”

Tony sighed. “Something impulsive and stupid—something I should have never done. It hurt the people I care about.”

Steve closed his eyes, drawing a breath. He opened them to meet his gaze. The man looked so fucking hurt—so devastated, and it was Tony’s fault. Steve wasn’t stupid. He was very perceptive. He knew what Tony had done, and it was only confirmed when he spoke. “You tried to take your life, didn’t you?”

He looked away, the shame of what he’d done too much. He didn’t want to see Steve’s reaction. He knew what kind of person it made him. He felt tears brimming in his eyes, and when he blinked, they fell, rolling down his cheeks. He didn’t want to fall apart, yet there he was doing just that.

The silence was all the confirmation Steve needed to decide his next move. The man took the two steps forward until he was fully in Tony’s personal space and then wrapped his arms around him in a hug. It was unexpected, awkward, and caught Tony off guard. He stiffened at the contact. He hadn’t been that close to Steve in over a year. He could smell the man’s aftershave, and he would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt a little to be so close. It was bittersweet, bringing back memories of how they used to be.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve said, pulling back and studying his face. “Why didn’t you reach out?”

“Because what was I going to say?” Tony took a step back, putting space between them. “Things changed. For all I knew, you would have told me to cut deeper.”

He knew he’d gone too far as soon as he said it. Steve sucked in a breath like he’d been punched in the gut. “Jesus, Tony! How could you say that? Is that really what you think? That I wouldn’t care?”

Tony scoffed. “You made it pretty clear when you drove your shield into my chest.”

Steve shook his head. “I never meant—”

“Don’t,” Tony said. “I don’t need to hear it. You chose who you wanted, and it wasn’t me. I had no reason to call you. What’s done is done.”

Steve stepped forward, a little closer than Tony was comfortable with. He was already on edge, and the conversation was derailing quickly. “Just because I got Bucky back, doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you. As I recall, you were the one who pulled away when we first found him—not me.”

His chest ached, but it wasn’t the scar. He remembered the look on Steve’s face when they found Bucky. He knew that it was over then. He didn’t need to be told. What Steve and Bucky shared was something you just didn’t stand between. What happened in Siberia was simply the final nail in the coffin.

“And my instincts were right.” Tony shrugged. “Look at you now. Two peas in a pod.”

“That’s not fair.”

Tony raised a brow. “Isn’t it? Just calling it like I see it.”

Steve sighed, shoulders sagging. “Do you have a comeback for everything? Why do you have to be so hostile? I don’t want to fight with you. Because despite what you seem to believe, I do actually give a damn about you.”

Like it or not, he felt some of his anger leave him. Steve was doing an excellent job of pulling off his hurt puppy dog face, and it was hard to stay mad at that. He was pretty sure the asshole did it on purpose. No one could look that innocent without practice.

The truth was, he didn’t want to fight either. The little energy he had was already waning. He felt raw and vulnerable and wanted nothing more than to curl up and forget the conversation had ever happened, but he doubted the super soldier in the room was going to let him. Steve’s eyes were cutting through him like he was trying to see the broken parts inside. Why did he have to care? It made it so much harder to keep his walls together when he could see the lines of worry on Steve’s face.  

Tony sighed, head shaking. “I’m too tired for this—too screwed up for this. I never should have told you—never should have dragged you into this mess.”

“But I’m glad you did,” Steve said. “I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me. I know we have a long way to go, but I hope it’s a sign that maybe things could get better.”

He thought back to his therapist and her words on forgiveness— _forgiveness doesn’t change the past; it allows for the future_. He finally understood the meaning. He had done various things, grand gestures, trying to prove to the team he’d forgiven them. When really, he needed to look a little deeper. He needed to accept what had happened, but not forget. He needed to forgive so the wound could heal—so the infection could be cleansed. He was tired of being angry. He didn’t need to do it for them. He had to do it for himself.

Tony rubbed at the back of his neck. “This whole thing went sideways. I didn’t want to fight either. It’s not easy to talk about this stuff for me, but thank you for not calling me a freak or bolting out of the room. Believe it or not, I haven’t told that many people.”

 “Who else knows about this?” Steve asked.

“Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, Dr. Cho,” Tony answered. “And now you.”

Steve nodded. “I have to admit. I know I’m out of my depth.  I don’t really know anything about this, but I’m willing to learn. I want to learn. You shouldn’t have to carry this by yourself.”

Tony played with the hem of his sleeve, pulling on a loose thread. “I can have Friday supply you with some info if you want.” He shrugged. “Basically, it’s a mood disorder. I have trouble staying in the middle like everyone else—especially since I take terrible care of myself as Pepper likes to put it. The medication helps me stay in the middle—if I take it.” The last part was mumbled, and he wasn’t sure why he included it. Steve caught it, though.

“Do you? Take them, I mean.”

Tony shrugged again. “I try, but it’s hard sometimes.”

Steve leaned back against the counter, drawing in a breath that he let out in a huff. “Have you thought about telling the others?”

He stiffened at the suggestion. It was one thing telling Steve. It was another for the whole team to find out. “I can’t. They won’t trust me out there. No one else should know.”

“It doesn’t change who you are. You’ve always been this way, right?” Steve asked, looking to him for confirmation. Tony nodded. “See? And look at what you’ve managed to accomplish. This won’t change how they see you. You’re still the same man they fought beside. We all have your six, Tony. Let us help you.”

Tony drew a shaky breath, turning to hide his face as he wiped at the tears from his face. It did nothing to stop them, though. He growled in frustration as he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes like it could stop the flow. “I just don’t want to be treated differently.”

“You won’t be,” Steve said, stepping over to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s hard, but try to trust us.”

Tony rubbed the scar on his chest, swallowing hard. “I don’t even know where to start—how to tell them. It’s not something I know how to talk about.”

“Maybe start small,” Steve suggested. “One person at a time. I know you don’t know Bucky well, but he worries about you. He’s always talking about you. He can see something's wrong and wants to help. He feels like he owes you.”

He hadn’t thought about Bucky in the storm of other feelings. He’d managed to move past his baggage about the Winter Soldier killing his parents, but it hurt when he thought of Steve and Bucky sharing a bed. Steve and Tony had been so close to being more, and then it all fell apart. He couldn’t hold it against Steve, though. Bucky had his heart long before Tony was even born. They were meant for each other. He wished there was a place for him between them, but he knew there wasn’t. His heart broke a little more.

“Tony?” Steve said, snapping him back from his thoughts.

“Yeah, Bucky, that’s fine. Maybe you could just tell him? I’m feeling tired. I’m gonna go lay on the couch and take a nap.”

Steve squeezed his shoulder. “Wait, what’s wrong? You’re shutting down.”

“It’s nothing,” Tony lied. “Like I said, just tired. Go see Bucky.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Tony, this is about him, isn’t it?”

“Dammit, why can you just leave things alone? Yes, okay? It’s about him. It’s about him and you and the fact I let myself get too caught up with something that never could be mine. It’s my problem, not yours. I think Bucky is great. I like him, okay? But could you please go before I have a fucking aneurysm.”

“Tony—”

“Go, please!”

Steve nodded and made his way out of the workshop.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go. Another chapter! I'm realizing now that I did a terrible job dividing them. The next chapter is around 8k words. Didn't notice until now. Oh well. It'll be up soon. 
> 
> Anyway, this is the start of bringing the boys together. I hope you like it. Thanks so much for all your support. I really appreciate it. I never thought anyone would really want to read this, so thank you.

Steve walked up the stairs and toward the living room. He could hear the team talking and laughing as he approached. Steve wasn’t feeling social, though. He felt overwhelmed, confused, and heartbroken. It was all too much information at once. He felt terrible that Tony thought he didn’t care. Because the truth was, he did—more than he had any right to. Steve had never stopped loving him. When it came to Tony, he felt deeply and with everything he had—just like he did with Bucky. He wished that he could go back and change how things had played out, but he couldn’t. Life didn’t work that way. He would just have to accept that what they once shared was gone.

His mind wandered to the conversation they’d had and Tony’s confession. He wondered if he’d played a role in his attempt on his life. Just the thought made his stomach do a flip. He felt nauseous thinking about it. He never imagined Tony suffering in such a way. He always thought of him as a firecracker who could handle anything. Steve didn’t know how much Tony was hiding. He really had screwed everything up.

As he walked by the common area, the chatter died down, and everyone froze to look at him. His eye caught Rhodey, who was sitting on the arm of the couch. “Do you have a minute to talk?” Steve asked.

He glanced over to see Bucky studying him. He knew his friend had questions from the look on his face, but Steve put up a hand and shook his head, signaling they’d talk later. Bucky accepted it with a nod.

Rhodey began to stand. “Yeah, we can go to my office.”

Steve nodded and gestured for him to lead the way.

His office was unremarkable, nothing fancy or extravagant. There was a desk, some leather chairs, and a small matching sofa. Steve walked over to the couch and sat down, putting his face in his hands.

“He told you, didn’t he?” Rhodey pulled over one of the chairs, taking a seat across from him.

“Yeah.” Steve breathed, dropping his hands to look at him. “He told me a lot, actually. I don’t know what to think.”

“Let’s start small,” Rhodey said. “He told you about the bipolar?”

Steve nodded. “I still don’t understand it, though. He kinda explained it, but really, he was just putting himself down a lot.”

“He does that, especially when he’s depressed—like now. He hates thinking of himself as different or having a mental illness. He thinks it makes him weak, partly the reason we struggle to keep him on medication. It’s actually pretty common for bipolar patients to have trouble staying on them, and Tony seems to have a running list of why he thinks he doesn’t need them.”

Steve nodded. “How long has he been off them?”

“From our best guess, a month or two. He’s been here alone, so no one has really been keeping tabs. It wasn’t until Pepper got a call from the pharmacy that he hadn’t been picking up his meds that we knew something was wrong.”

“So, these medications, they help him? What do they do?”

“Well, he’s on a mood stabilizer called Depakote—that helps keep his manias under control more than anything. His biggest problem by far is mania,” Rhodey explained. “It can be addicting. Tony described it to me like a rush. He feels like he’s invincible like he can do anything, conquer the world with his arms tied behind his back. He goes days with only hours of sleep. He also has some nasty PTSD as well. When he came home from Afghanistan, he was a mess. He was nearly delusional from the torture and lack of sleep. It was never released, but he ended up needing a short hospital stay to get stable after that.”

Steve leaned back, taking in the info. “And the shot, why that? Can’t he just take pills? It clearly hurts him.”

“Med compliance,” Rhodey said simply. “It lasts for a month, so we know he’s at least getting something.”

“I feel awful.” Steve rubbed at his eyes. “I had no idea.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. Tony hides it well.” Rhodey sighed. “He takes some other meds, too. They help him sleep and help with his anxiety attacks. He takes one to help with the tremors in his hands. Getting regular sleep helps keep him stable, making sure he eats, too. You guys kind of returned in the middle of an episode.”

“Have you always known?” Steve asked.

Rhodey took a breath. “I suspected back when he was at MIT that something wasn’t right. He self-medicated then, though—trying to fix his problems with alcohol and drugs. His father pretty much fucked him up enough that he didn’t reach out for real help until later. I think Obadiah might have known—not that that did him any favors.”

“So, what now? I feel helpless here. I went down there to talk to him, but I think I just made everything worse,” Steve said. “I brought up Bucky, and then he got upset and kicked me out.”

Rhodey nodded. “I can see that—given how close you and Tony were getting before everything happened.”

“I don’t know what to do. I want to help him.” Steve flopped back against the cushions. “I know it’s selfish, but I never stopped caring for him.”

“Look, man,” Rhodey said, clearing his throat. “You need to decide what it is you want from him and make it clear, even if it hurts you. Tony needs stability. I don’t think he can take another major letdown.”

Steve sighed. “I care about them both.”

“Short of making some ragtag three-way relationship, you’re gonna have to choose. I’m not gonna stand by and let you mess with his head. He's got enough problems right now.”

He knew Rhodey was joking, but part of him couldn’t help but entertain the idea. He wished it could be that simple. He’d expected some bumps in the road coming home, but he never thought it would be like this. He never thought he’d find Tony so broken and his own feelings still so strong.

“I know what you’re thinking and stop.” Rhodey raised a brow. “I was kidding about the threesome. Tony is not in shape for some screwed up relationship between the man who left him for dead and the guy who killed his parents. I think it would be best if you didn’t open old wounds and let him just get over you.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Steve said, though the idea still lingered in his mind.

Rhodey raised his brows, tipping his head to the side. “I know I’m right.”

“So, what can I do to help?”

“Just be his friend.” He made it sound so simple. “He needs people around him who care. Encourage him to eat and sleep on a schedule. He’s as stubborn as a mule, so any help is appreciated.”

“I can do that.”

“Oh, let me grab you something else.” Rhodey got up, walking over to his desk and pulling a drawer open. He grabbed a tattered yellow book and handed it to him; the cover read Bipolar for Dummies. Steve smiled at that. “I think reading this might help you understand a little better.”

Steve thanked him, taking the book and heading towards the bedroom that he and Bucky shared.

He wasn’t surprised to see Bucky stretched out on the bed reading when he stepped inside. Since leaving Wakanda, he would spend hours a day lost in fictional worlds where reality couldn’t reach him. It was how he coped.

“Hey,” Steve greeted him, toeing off his shoes and walking over to lay beside him.

“Penny for your thoughts.” Bucky craned his neck to look at the book in Steve’s hand but not making a comment.

Steve turned on his side to face Bucky, propping himself up on an elbow. “I saw Tony.”

Bucky nodded for him to continue.

“He told me what was wrong. He is depressed, but there is more going on than that. He has this thing. I guess it’s called bipolar. It means he has episodes of different moods, and he hasn’t been taking care of himself.” He paused, taking a breath. “And he told me about something—something that happened when we were gone. He … He tried to take his life, Buck.”

Bucky sucked in a breath. “We did that to him, didn’t we?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “I don’t want to think we did, but part of me knows we played a part. I left him there, Buck. He thinks I chose you over him.”

“Can you really blame him for seeing it that way? It wasn’t just you who left him in that bunker. I was right beside you. We walked out of there together. What kind of people does that make us?”

Steve sighed. “I don’t know. The worst kind.”

“Can I ask you something, and you be completely honest?”

He nodded, turning his head to look at Bucky.

“Do you still love him?” Bucky didn’t look angry, just curious.

Steve closed his eyes and nodded. “I love you both. That’s a problem, huh?”

Bucky surprised him by huffing a laugh. “Yeah, Stevie, some might call that a problem.”

“I didn’t mean it to happen. I never—”

Bucky rolled up onto his side, pressing his lips to Steve’s, cutting off his apology before he even got started. He leaned in, resting their foreheads together. “I don’t need to hear you apologizing for something out of your control. At least you have good taste. I would’ve had to judge you if you confessed secret feelings for Barton.”

Steve laughed. “Clint’s definitely safe from me, but seriously though, what does this mean for us?”

Bucky rolled and dropped onto his back, throwing an arm over his head. He shrugged. “I know it sounds weird, but I’m not really jealous. I don’t know how to explain it, but I care about the guy. I get what you see in him.”

Steve hummed in response, his mind going to Rhodey’s joke about relationships. If only life were that simple, but then again, why did it have to be complicated?  

“So, you gonna tell me about the book you brought back?” Bucky asked, snatching it from his grasp. “Bipolar for Dummies. This about that thing Tony has?”

“Yeah, Rhodey let me borrow it. I think he could tell I was out of my depth.”

“Well, if the title is anything to go by, it was written just for you.” Bucky flipped through the pages, occasionally stopping to read something he found interesting.

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re a real comedian.”

“You know it,” Bucky said, still flipping. “So, does this have something to do with why he’s been limping?”

“Yeah, one of the meds is an injection. I guess he gets a nasty lump from it.”

“Does he know you’re telling me this?”

Steve nodded. “He knows. I think he wants to be more open with it, but he’s afraid of getting hurt. I just had no idea any of this was going on. I feel so blindsided by it all. I don’t want him to think he has to go through this alone.”

“Because you love him.”

“I’m sorry, Buck.” Steve sighed. “I don’t know how things got so screwed up.”

He heard Bucky draw in a deep breath and then adjust in the bed, rolling onto his side to face him again. Steve blinked, looking at his partner, searching for signs of hurt or anger but finding none. Bucky laid his hand on his hip and sighed. “Steve, after all the bad I’ve done, after all the hurt I’ve left behind in the world, I ain’t got a right to be angry at you for loving someone else. I wish there were a way to make it all work—to have our cake and eat it, too, but I don’t think there's a way. I guess what I’m trying to say is, if you want to be with him, you should be. Don’t worry about me.”

“Jesus, Buck. Don’t even—losing you? That’s the last thing I want out of this.”

Maybe he was more selfish than he wanted to admit, but Steve found himself wishing he could have it all, though Rhodey was probably right. Even if everyone were interested, it would be a lot of stress on Tony, and he knew that wasn’t fair. Tony had said he’d forgiven them, but forgiving someone and dating someone who had a hand in killing your parents was two very different things. It was really too bad. If they had all met in another time and place, outside the disaster that was their lives, Bucky and Tony would have probably hit it off famously.

“Alright, I gotta know. What’s got you thinking so hard I can see smoke coming out of your ears?”

Steve looked away. “It doesn’t matter. It's not something that would ever happen. Just me being stupid.”

“I can believe that. You got stupid down pat.” Bucky chuckled, rubbing his thumb against his hip. “Come on, Steve. Tell old Bucky what’s wrong.”

“You sound like a creep when you talk like that.”

Bucky shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Out with it. I know when something’s bugging you, so you might as well spill.”

Steve sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment, opening them again to see Bucky staring at him, eyebrow raised. “You’re gonna laugh. It really is stupid. It was just something Rhodey said as a joke. He wasn’t serious. It just got me thinking is all.”

“Okay, and what was the joke?”

Steve ducked his head, feeling a blush creep up his face. “That maybe the solution to the problem isn’t picking between the two of you but having you both.”

He didn’t dare look up and see Bucky’s reaction. He felt him tense beside, and his hand that rubbing on his side stilled. “You mean like the three of us together or expecting us to be fine with sharing?”

Steve’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “No, I wouldn’t do that. I meant the three of us together, but I know that wouldn’t work. I told you it was stupid.”

Bucky held his face in an unreadable mask, and Steve thought he had done it. He’d finally screwed things up beyond repair. He didn’t want to lose Bucky, but from the blank look on his face, he already had.

And then the asshole shrugged.

He looked like he was casually considering the weather—not like his partner had just dumped his desire for a threesome in his lap. “Well, I don’t think it’s stupid. Seems alright to me, but I guess the real question would be if Tony is interested, and how do we find out without making a real mess of everything.”

“You’re taking this rather well.”

Bucky laughed. “You threw yourself on a grenade in basic instead of getting out of the way. This is the least stupid idea you’ve had.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it. I tried to edit it the best I could, but I might have missed a few things. And I'll warn you in advance, this chapter has a lot of feels. It also has a fairly vague and brief discussion on Tony's past sexual assault. So please stay safe and don't read if that might be an issue.

Tony woke from his nap, cursing. He had a kink in his neck from sleeping curled up on his couch in the workshop. He could barely straighten it. Just what he wanted to deal with on top of everything else.

Stomach grumbling, he stretched but stopped because of the pain. He rubbed at it for a minute, trying to loosen it, but it was a lost cause. Unsure how long he slept, he checked the time. It was later than he thought, and he knew if he didn’t eat soon, Friday would tattle.

He was just about to get up to go upstairs when his workshop door opened. Living alone for so long, he hadn’t had much need for locking the door. There were only his bots to bother him before, but now there were people, and not just any people, but nosey people who like to drop in and pester him. He really needed to get back in the habit of setting the locks.

What he saw when he looked up, made him freeze. There were two rather oversized super soldiers staring back at him. He wasn’t ready to face them together. It wasn’t fair that this was the hand he was dealt. He didn’t want to sound like he was wallowing in his own self-pity, but maybe he was. He just didn’t have it in him to fight more, and he really didn’t want to see Steve and Bucky ogling each other in front of him.

It quickly became apparent that they had entered some type of staring contest, and Tony was going to be damned if he gave in first, so he just held their gaze and squared his shoulders. It was ridiculous that this was what his life had come to. The fact no one spoke made the air in the room awkward. Tony was considering looking away when Bucky carefully, and ever so slowly, raised a brow, the smallest smirk playing on his lips. Apparently, this was funny to him.

Between everything that was going on and the pain in his neck, he wasn’t in the mood. He practically growled as he spoke. “Glad someone is amused.”

Bucky’s expression changed at his harsh tone, his lips tugging down in a frown, his eyes soft and concerned. He was looking at Tony like he was something to be coddled like he was kitten someone found in a dumpster that needed to be saved. Tony studied Steve, who seemed to be on the same page as Bucky. For a second, he wondered why they were looking at him like that, but then he remembered. Tony had given the green light for Steve to tell Bucky, which meant they were there to throw him a pity party. The last thing he needed or wanted was pity.

“We came down to see how you were doing,” Steve said. “We ordered food.”

“Not hungry.” Tony scowled. He went to get up, but the movement pulled on his neck, making him wince. A small whimper might have even passed his lips as he tried to readjust, though he’d never admit to it.

What happened next, he never saw coming.

Bucky stepped forward, crossing the room and crouching down in front of him. Tony jumped at the intrusion into his personal space, making his neck pull painfully. He hissed out a curse, reaching up and rubbing at the knot in his neck and shoulder.

“Slept wrong, huh?” Bucky drawled, sending a shiver down his spine. He’d never heard that tone from the man before. It did things to him that he didn’t want to admit to. “Let me.” He brushed Tony's hand away and began rubbing where the knot had formed. He had no idea why he wasn’t protesting, they barely knew each other, but his warm, calloused hand felt good working against his tired muscles, so for once, he ignored his logical side and just enjoyed it. He could spend hours later dissecting what it meant. Chalk it up to another reason he shouldn’t have fired his therapist.

He may have made some pathetic noises of contentment as Bucky worked out the knot. His brain seemed to be turning to mush as he found himself resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. He couldn’t help but notice how good he smelled. Was that even cologne or just his natural scent? He really should put a stop to this. Clearly, he was off his rocker more than he thought to be letting Bucky Barnes of all people give him a neck rub. It was so insane, it was funny.

“Better?” Bucky asked, still rubbing his neck.

“Little,” Tony whimpered, his head still resting on Bucky’s shoulder. He didn’t want to move. He felt weirdly comfortable there even though he barely knew the man. Tony could see why Steve liked him. He was gentle despite having spent the last seventy years as a brainwashed murder bot. “So, I assume Steve told you. Should I get the streamers out for the pity party?”

“Nope, no pity.” Bucky worked his thumb into a particularly sore spot. “Just want to help you—both of us do.”

Tony lifted his head and looked into the eyes of the ex-assassin—not expecting the compassion he saw, the warmth. He knew logically Bucky wasn’t the man that had murdered his parents, that the Winter Soldier had been in control, but seeing his eyes, he really got it. He was James Buchanan Barnes—a guy who been dealt an even worse hand in life than he had and was still standing. Tony understood what Steve saw in him. How could he not?

“I don’t need any help.” Tony pulled away, leaning back. “Or more babysitters, and if this is some weird guilt complex thing, you don’t have to worry—everything is fine between us.”

Steve walked over and sat beside him on the couch. “Tony, we aren’t doing this because we feel guilty. We are doing this because we care. Why is that so hard for you to accept?”

“People shouldn’t care about me.”

He started digging the burn he got soldering a few days before, peeling the blister apart—the pain grounded him. It was something he sometimes did when things felt out of control. He’d pick at old wounds or even cause new ones. He was so used to doing it that he didn’t give it a second thought until a strong hand gently took his.

“Not gonna let you hurt yourself.” Bucky’s voice was soft. He rubbed his thumbs rubbing back and forth over his pulse point. “Think there’s been enough hurt passed around already. No need to go causing more.”

Tony should have pulled his wrist free, but instead, he let Bucky hold him. It was odd and different but not necessarily wrong. He didn’t know what to make of it. A tiny piece of him, the smallest part he kept tucked away, whispered things he didn’t want to hear because they could never be true—things like maybe there was more to his touch. Maybe there was room for him somewhere in it all. He knew better than to hope or let that tiny piece of him get too loud. It would only hurt more if he did. He needed to accept that they were just nice to him because they felt bad. It was just what people did.

“Why don’t you come upstairs and have some dinner with us?” Bucky said, thumb still sliding back and forth over the sensitive skin of his wrist.

“Come on.” Steve put a hand on his back. “You need to eat.”

Bucky stood up and offered him a hand. He considered it for a moment, but then figured things couldn’t possibly get stranger, so he accepted his help and carefully stood. The soldier smiled, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. Bucky led the way, and Steve followed behind. He knew it didn’t make a lot of sense, which might have been due to his lack of sleep, but being between them didn’t feel so bad. At least for the moment, it made him feel safe, even if Tony didn’t understand it—it was something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He wanted to wrap himself in the feeling while he could.

They made their way to the living room where the TV was on, and the others were stretched out on the couches; takeout containers littered the coffee table.

“He lives,” Natasha greeted him. “Sit down, grab some food. There’s more than enough to go around.”

Tony drew a breath, letting it out slowly. “Thanks.” He walked over and poked through the boxes.

Nothing seemed very appealing, but he knew Rhodey, Friday, and now two soldiers were watching to make sure he ate. He settled on a small container of rice. He wanted to go back to his workshop and eat, but he knew he should try to be social. He grabbed a fork and took a seat on an empty couch. Steve and Bucky were quick to sit with him. He didn’t look up at the others, but he could feel them watching him.

He poked at the rice for a minute before taking a bite. It didn’t settle well in his stomach, but he ate it anyway. Even though it was a small amount, he couldn’t finish it—a testimony to how little he was used to eating. He’d been on a nearly liquid diet for a while now—mostly coffee and smoothies. Food was either something he didn’t have time for or something he was too exhausted to make.

He set the container down and glanced up to see Rhodey giving him the ‘Don’t Think I Didn’t Notice You Not Eating’ look. Tony shrugged in response, and Rhodey just shook his head.

“Thanks for dinner, guys,” Tony said, pushing himself from the couch. “But I have some work to do, so I’m gonna head back to the shop.”

“You just got here,” Sam protested. “Stay, hang out, live a little. You’ve kept yourself locked up for days.”

“Sorry, but work doesn’t wait. I’ll catch you guys later.” Tony quickly turned, heading back to the safety of his workshop.

“Tones,” he heard Rhodey call from behind him, but he didn’t stop. It was just starting to sink in how weird things had just gotten, and he needed to escape. He needed to get his defenses back up and to stop letting blue-eyed soldiers find ways behind his walls.

Once he reached his workshop, he first made sure to set it to lockdown, and then he went to the freezer and grabbed an ice pack. He settled down on the couch, sitting down carefully and pressing the ice to his hip. He felt awful—like he had the flu, but he knew in a few days, the worst would be over.

“Friday, give me something to work on,” he said. “I don’t care what.”

A second later, the schematics for Clint’s hearing aids were in front of him. He expanded the hologram, looking for ways to improve them. It settled his mind for a bit to have something to focus on. Eventually, pleased with the new design, he had Friday began fabricating the parts.

The stress of the day had gotten to him, and his head began to hurt. He got up and walked over to the cabinet, digging for some ibuprofen. Finding the bottle, he shook a few into his hand. He grabbed a water from the fridge, twisting the cap off and popping the pills in his mouth. He swallowed them down and then went to see how the hearing aids were coming along. The parts were nearly done.

Satisfied, he walked over and started a pot of coffee only to be interrupted by Friday.

“Boss,” his AI spoke. “Coffee this late in the evening could be counterproductive to your sleep schedule. May I suggest another beverage such as herbal tea?”

Tony growled, glaring at the ceiling. “Fuck this. Friday, deactivate Missing Marbles protocol, override code 83912-Foxtrot-Echo-Victor.”

“Protocol has been deactivated,” Friday spoke. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

Tony grabbed a dirty mug and walked over to the sink, washing it out. “Nope.” He turned off the water. “That’ll be all.”

He went back to the coffee maker and poured a cup, taking a sip. He relaxed a little, enjoying the familiar aroma and taste.

“Incoming call from Ms. Potts.”

“Go ahead,” Tony said. “Patch her through.”

“Tony, I got a text from Friday. You deactivated the protocol.” Pepper’s voice was strained. “What’s going on?”

Just then, there was a knock on the door—probably Rhodey. He’d forgotten Friday sent out notices.

“Hang on a sec, Pep,” he said. “Friday, tell Rhodey I’m fine and talking to Pepper, please.”

Pepper sighed. “So, what’s going on, Tony?”

“Nothing, I just wanted some space.” He took a sip of his coffee. “It just got too much when my own AI started telling me I drink too much coffee. I’m feeling claustrophobic in my own home. I’m being a good boy. I’m taking my meds. I’m trying, Pep, but you guys got to cut me a little slack here.”

There was more to it than that, but she didn’t need to know about what happened earlier with Bucky and Steve. She’d probably insist on calling Dr. Cho if she found out. Not that he’d blame her. Letting your almost ex’s new boyfriend close enough to give you a neck massage could be classified as strange behavior.

He heard her sigh. “I’m sorry, Tony. No one meant to make you feel uncomfortable. We just worry. We know how hard you can crash. We weren’t trying to smother you. I’m sorry it made you feel that way.”

“I know you mean well, and I can’t blame you after the things I’ve put you through,” he said. “But, I promise that I am trying my best right now.”

“Okay, I’ll trust you on that for now, so how’s everything else going?”

He rubbed at his temple. His headache still lingering. “Honestly?”

“Preferably.”

“I don’t know. I feel like crap,” Tony started. “I'm still adjusting to being back on meds. They’re making me tired all day. Sometimes I can still feel Steve’s shield in my chest, but the weird thing is, I can’t seem to be mad at him for it. It’s the opposite. If I’m honest, Pep, I want to be around him. I like being near him. How fucked up is that?”

“Well, you never do the predictable thing.” She laughed.

He downed the last of his coffee. “Both him and Bucky went out of their way to be nice to me today—which was weird, and even though I don’t understand why, I guess I liked it. I’m not supposed to like being around them. I should want to keep my distance, but I don’t. I know this is insane, Pep, but they make me feel safe. Again, how fucked-up am I?”

“Oh, Tony,” Pepper said. “Wanting to be around people isn’t a bad thing. Did you tell them?”

“Yeah, well, I kind of told Steve, and he passed it along to Bucky. We all had a moment.”

“That’s great, Tony. It’s a step in the right direction. You need people you can count on—people who care.”

“It just means more people I can hurt.” He leaned against the counter. “Like how I hurt you. Because you can’t lie and say you don’t have nightmares from finding me like that.”

“Tony.” She sighed. “Don’t do that to yourself. You deserve to have friends who love you. We’ve all made mistakes in our life. Dwelling on the past, punishing yourself, it isn’t going to help you now or in the future.” He heard her draw a breath. “I think I need to make something clear because you don’t seem to catch the obvious sometimes. I forgive you, Tony—for everything and anything that big, genius brain of yours thinks you’ve done wrong. I forgive you, and I think you need to forgive yourself, too.”

He let her words sink in for a moment. It settled funny in his gut. It went against the grain of his internal dialogue. His mind was a constant stream of the ways he wasn’t good enough, the ways he hurt people, the ways let people down. It was hard to go against the thoughts. He tried to hang onto her words, though—like a lifeline.

Tears began pricking at his eyes, and he was thankful he was alone. He wiped them away with his sleeve.

“I hate this, Pep,” he said. “I hate how much it hurts. I don’t know what normal feels like because I have never been normal, and I’m so fucking tired. We’ve tried so many meds, so many combinations, but the stability never lasts. I just fuck it up, and I don’t know why. I feel like I keep letting people down.”

And then he was sobbing, broken, ugly sobs, tears running down his cheeks. If Howard could only see him now.

“Sweetheart, I know it hurts,” she said. “I wish I could take the pain away, but if you’d let people in, let people help you, I promise it will be better. You’ve been hiding this for so long—struggling on your own. It doesn’t have to be this hard.”

Tony hiccupped back a sob—fucking hiccupped. He set his cup down and grabbed a handful of paper towels and wet them with lukewarm water from the sink. He wiped his face and drew a shaky breath.

“What if they leave me again?” he asked, sounding utterly pathetic. “I don’t think I could take it. What if they can’t deal with me and leave? I don’t think I could handle it again.”

“Shhh,” Pepper soothed. “You already told me that Bucky and Steve know, and they haven’t rejected you—actually, from the sound of it, it’s the opposite. I think you’ll find the rest of them just as understanding.”

“I don’t know,” Tony said, his head was pounding again despite the ibuprofen he’d taken earlier. “I need time to think.”

“I understand. Take your time. Oh, and by the way, Rhodey has texted me about five times now, demanding to know if you’re alright. I told him you’re fine and just taking some time to clear your head.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” she said. “Now, go, try to relax. Helen is coming tomorrow to check in on you. Don’t forget.”

“Thank you, Pep. Make sure to give yourself a raise. I don’t pay you nearly enough to deal with my meltdowns.”

She laughed. “I’m your friend, Tony. I don’t need to be paid to be there for you.”

“You’re too good for me.”

“Get some rest, Tony.”

The call disconnected, and he leaned back against the counter. He took a few slow breaths and tried to gather himself. His thoughts wandered to Steve and Bucky, and a warm feeling spread through him. He was letting that broken part of him hope, and it was going to be the end of him.

He looked at the time. It was getting late. He needed to shower and change, maybe eat a little more, too. Sighing, he made his way up toward the kitchen. The group was sitting around watching a movie. Tony glanced over at them. Bucky and Steve were sitting together. Steve had his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, fingers toying with his hair. It felt like Tony had been sucker-punched. He felt stupid for letting their concern delude him into thinking there was some hope for something more. They had each other, and they didn’t need some broken man coming between them. Steve had made his choice, and in his place, he would have probably made the same decision.

Any thoughts of eating gone, he took off, probably a bit too fast, toward his room. It wasn’t until he was nearly there that he noticed he was being followed—two sets of heavy footsteps echoed behind him. He knew without looking who they belonged to.

The closer they got, the more his chest started to hurt. He could hear them gaining ground, and he stumbled over his own feet, hand going to the wall to catch himself. He just needed to get to his room. If he got there, he could take a Valium and calm down—everything would be fine. His vision was getting spotty as he tried to catch his breath—as his lungs burned. He needed to calm down. He stumbled again, but before he could fall, arms were wrapping around him, one metal, one flesh, helping him to his feet.

“Sorry if we scared you.” Bucky’s voice came from beside his ear. “It looked like you saw a ghost. We wanted to check on you.”

“I just need … I need to get to my room,” Tony said as he tried to get air into his lungs, but no matter how hard he tried, it didn’t feel like he was getting any oxygen. He was getting dizzy and knew he was close to passing out. He needed to get in control of himself. Falling apart wasn’t an option.

“Easy, Tony.” Steve’s voice came from somewhere beside him. “What do you need?”

He shook his head and pulled out of Bucky’s arms, still gasping for breath. “I’m fine.”

He straightened and made his way to his room, struggling to open the door. He immediately went to the dresser and dug for the bottle he needed. He took two out and chewed them, knowing they would work faster. In his haste to get inside, he’d forgotten that he’d left his door open.

“Would it be okay if we came in?” Steve asked from the doorway. He glanced over to see both soldiers observing him.

Tony nodded, shoving the drawer closed. He didn’t have much to lose by inviting them into his room. Things were already a confusing mess between them. He walked over to the bed and sat, looking up at the larger men. He was still breathing fast, but the pills were already beginning to take the edge off his anxiety. “So, was there something you guys wanted?”

“Can we sit?” Bucky nodded to the bed. It was big enough that there was room beside him without feeling crowded.

Tony nodded, still trying to get a lid on his emotions.

They approached him cautiously like they were afraid of startling him. The logical part of his brain was running through a list of reasons that this was all kinds of wrong, but that small, dangerous part was enjoying having them near.

They sat on either side of him, and he couldn’t deny the little bit of warmth stirring inside him.

Steve looked over at him, his hands clasped in his lap. “You looked upset earlier—when you saw us. We were worried.”

“There’s a lot of that going around today.” Tony chuckled darkly, picking at his nails. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m used to bad days. You guys could’ve finished your movie.”

“We needed to talk to you.” Bucky’s voice was serious, and it made Tony’s heart speed up. “I know we don’t know each other well, but Steve and I, we can’t do this. Steve can’t pretend he doesn’t—”

“Bucky, not now,” Steve warned.

This was it. Rejection.

His chest felt like it was being crushed—the major letdown had arrived. Here was karma’s cruel retribution for all the pain and death he’d caused. He’d told them the truth, and now they were ditching him. He felt himself sucking in painful breaths. His life was like a carnival game—rigged from the start.

“Tony,” Steve said, placing a hand on his back. “You need to calm down. You’re safe. Bucky and I are here. You’re in the compound. Everything’s fine. Come on, Tony, breathe.”

He wasn’t listening. He was heading full speed into a meltdown. His chest heaved, and he sucked in a wheezy breath. He put his head in his hands, lacing his fingers in his hair. “I knew it,” Tony choked. “Pepper was wrong. I shouldn’t have believed her. No one wants me. No one wants me.”

He’d give anything to get away—to be free from this horrible pain. He hated it. He didn’t feel like he had control of his emotions anymore. He didn’t deserve the Stark name. Tears started burning their way down his cheeks. He was turning into an emotional wreck.

Bucky got up and knelt in front of him. His cool, metal hand gently nudging Tony’s chin up from his chest. “Tony.” Bucky's voice was gentle but firm. “No one said they didn’t want you. It’s actually quite the opposite. We both do.”

Tony wiped his tears on his sleeve and blinked at Bucky, looking at him, really looking at him. All he saw were the same kind, gentle eyes he’d seen before, except now they were touched with worry. 

He took a few calming breaths, feeling Steve’s grounding hand on his back, rubbing gently. He couldn’t remember a time he was such an absolute wreck. Even when he’d tried to take his own life, he hadn’t cried—actually the opposite. He’d been numb and empty. This was different. He was feeling so much. His emotions tearing him apart.

What Bucky had said didn’t make sense—nothing made sense. He needed something to make it all stop—even if only for a moment. He started digging at the burn on his thumb, but before he could do much damage, Bucky gently took his hands into his own. Tony was about to apologize when something happened that made his heart slam to a stop. Bucky lifted his injured hand to his mouth and gently kissed the wound, soft lips lingering for a moment.

“There are better ways to deal with things.” Bucky’s grip was comforting and reassuring. “You don’t need to hurt yourself more. We both care about you too much to let that happen.”

He couldn’t look away from Bucky’s face. When had things changed? How did he come to care so much for a man he barely knew? It was all wrong. It shouldn’t be happening, but it was. This wasn’t in his plans. He was supposed to keep his distance, stay strong, and keep himself from growing attached. He’d walked this road once before with Steve and barely survived. He didn’t think he could make it out alive if he went another round.

“You okay?” Steve didn’t sound bothered by what Bucky had done. His hand still moved back and forth across his back as Bucky held his hand. “Tony,” Steve prompted again.

He wanted to answer, but his brain was offline. His mind struggled to connect to the dots—to try and piece together how they’d gotten to where they were. His morning had started off so normal.

“This was why I wanted to wait, Buck,” he heard Steve say over his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Stevie, but he needed to know. He needs to know that we want him—that we care.”

Well, it’d been a while since he’d lost it completely. He wondered if he was back in the hospital, doped up on the good stuff, maybe in a padded room with some crayons—that would make a lot more sense. Because if there was one thing he knew for a fact, it was that things like this didn’t happen in real life. They didn’t happen to people like him.

Bucky rubbed his thumb back and forth over the back of Tony’s hand. “Come on, Tony,” Bucky said softly. “Come back to us.” He shifted Tony’s hands into his metal one and then reached up to cup Tony's face with his other. It felt strangely real for a hallucination. No matter what it was, it felt good, so he leaned into it, accepting the warmth.

After a few minutes, Tony’s brain seemed to finally reboot, and his brow furrowed. He looked to Steve, and then to Bucky, and then back to Steve. “Why are you guys … I mean.” He drew a breath. “You’re together,” he said. “And you kissed my hand.” He looked Bucky. “And why do you look so okay with this?” He glanced back at Steve.

Steve sighed. “I wanted to wait to talk to you about it. We didn’t want to pressure you or take advantage of you because you’re going through so much right now, but like usual, Bucky couldn’t hold his horses.”

Tony nodded, taking in what Steve just said, but not eliminating the option that he might be gnawing on crayons in some padded room somewhere. “Okay, so what are you saying exactly? That you guys have feelings for me?”

“Tony, you know I loved you before Siberia, and I never stopped,” Steve said. “Despite our differences and everything we’ve been through, you’ve always held a piece of my heart.” His hand slid up to Tony’s neck and rubbed gently. He found his eyes slipping closed at the touch.

“You doing okay?” Bucky asked.

He opened his eyes and swallowed, looking to Bucky, who was still gently holding his hands in his metal one. “I don’t know. I guess this is a lot to take in. I mean, you’ve just met me. How can you be sure you even like me?"

Bucky smiled, and Tony almost thought he saw a blush on his cheeks.

“I don’t know, but I am.” Bucky shrugged. “T’Challa told me stories about you. How hard you’d worked to help me to get a second chance. I can’t imagine how hard that was for you, yet you did it anyway. Says a lot about the kind of person you are.”

“Once I understood, it was easy. It wasn’t you that did those things. It was the Winter Soldier,” Tony said, holding Bucky’s gaze. “Don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control.”

A small smile touched Bucky’s lips. “That’s what I mean—that right there. You have such a good heart. The way you fought to pardon everyone—how you went to trial to fight for me even though you owed me nothing. You never asked for a thing in return. You even gave us all a home again. When I saw you again, you looked like life had run over you with a truck, and it bothered me. The guy who’d done so much shouldn’t be hurting like that.”

Tony shook his head. “I’m not a good man, Bucky. I’m a killer—ask Wanda. I can say with fair certainty that at least a quarter or more of the world’s population hates me.  You know what they used to call me? The Merchant of Death.”

He tried to look down, but Bucky gently guided his chin up to meet his gaze. “Why are you so able to forgive others, to see their good, yet you can’t see your own? You’re not the Merchant of Death anymore. You’re a strong and amazing man who works to make the world a better place. You can’t keep punishing yourself for the things of the past—just like I can’t blame myself for the things Winter did.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, trying to wriggle free. He needed to move. Bucky let his wrists go, standing, so Tony could get to his feet. He began pacing. “We’re not the same, Bucky. You were brainwashed into doing those things—I just did them because I could. I built weapons that killed people because I could. I was proud of it. I’m toxic. Everything I touch gets tainted. People have nightmares from just knowing me. Just ask Pepper.

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you both, I can imagine the headlines now, but what you have, it’s pure—seriously, it’s like the world’s most epic love story. I wouldn’t only bring you down with how fucking difficult and needy I am—I’d ruin your relationship. I’m sick—broken. I can barely control when I'm up or when I'm down. I honestly don’t know how I’m still alive some days. I hate eating. I hate taking my meds. I’m a horrible morning person. I live on coffee. I’m as high maintenance as it gets.” He paused, turning to face them. “I’m not what you need. You deserve better, on so many fucking levels, you deserve better.” Tony sighed. “Please don’t love me. I’m not worth it.”

He stared at them as he caught his breath, waiting for his words to sink in, waiting for them to realize what a generally lousy example of humanity he was, but instead, Steve stood, crossing his arms over his chest and raising a brow.

“Are you done?” Steve asked.

Tony stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket, mostly so they couldn’t see him digging at the burn. The pain grounded him a little, but also because he wanted to shrink away as Steve had his Captain America face on, and it was a bit intimidating, to say the least, so he settled on a shrug, not really sure what else to say.

“That speech was something,” Steve said. “I’ll give you credit for making such a great list of all the reasons why we shouldn’t care about you, but none of it scares me away.” He stepped closer to Tony until they were standing toe to toe. “You know why?”

Tony looked into his eyes, shaking his head. He felt off-center and out of his element. Typically, if he pushed people hard enough, he could scare them away. Tony had even pushed Pepper away. He'd kept her at arm's length despite everything they’d been through, but this, whatever this was, scared him. They were seeing him for the fucked-up mess he was and weren’t running the other way.

“Because when I look at you, I see someone hiding behind a mask because they’re afraid of being hurt. I see a man who deserves to be loved.” Steve reached out and gently brushed his knuckles along Tony’s jawline. “We’re not going to force you into something you don’t want. We can all just be friends, but we still won’t leave you—not again. You’re worth the effort, Tony.”

He swallowed dryly, feeling overwhelmed. How the hell had his day gotten to this point? All his perfectly crafted defenses were toppling. He tore at the burn on his thumb and pressed his nail into the wound. Pain was good. Pain he knew. It helped him feel grounded. He could feel blood trickling down his finger, warm and sticky.

Bucky stepped closer, a look of disappointment on his face, but before Tony could ask why, the man was tugging his hand from the hoodie. The ex-assassin turned it carefully in the light before letting it drop to Tony’s side. “We’re going to talk about this later.”

Tony went to hide it in his pocket again, but Bucky stopped him. “Leave it where I can see it.”

He did as he was told, not wanting to see any more disappointment in Bucky’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said. “Not just for this.” He raised his injured hand. “But because I don’t know how to accept people caring. Howard made sure I knew my worth growing up. You have no idea how much baggage I have.”

“Tony,” Steve warned. “What did I tell you? You can’t scare us away, so stop trying.”

“I wish you could see what we see,” Bucky said. “You’re so hard on yourself—so negative. We want to help fix that.”

Tony couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle.

“What?” Steve said.

“It’s just my therapist once said something similar about being negative, so I fired her.”

Neither of them looked impressed.

“So, uh, this potential thing between us.” Tony chewed his lip nervously. “I guess I’m interested and wouldn’t mind seeing where it goes, but I need to take things slow—like molasses in Antarctica slow. Fuck, maybe slower than that. It’s a PTSD thing—a throwback to some things I’d rather forget.” He was rambling a little and knew it.

“We can do that,” Steve said reassuringly. “Whatever you need. We aren’t going to rush you, and if you aren’t ready and just want to be friends, that’s fine, too. You’re in charge here.”

Tony could see the sincerity in Steve's eyes, and it put him at ease. He looked to Bucky and was greeted with the same warmth. He wasn’t sure how he deserved to have one, let alone two, people willing to deal with the fucked-up mess that was his life, but he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I definitely want to be more than friends,” Tony admitted, looking at the floor. “But you should know some stuff about my past. I just don’t know how to say it.” He walked over and sat back on the bed, putting his head in his hands.

“You don’t need to tell us anything you’re not comfortable with,” Bucky came to sit beside him. “We don’t want you stirring up something you’ve put to bed. Like they say, sometimes it's best to let sleeping dogs lie."

“No, you need to hear this as much as I need to say it. It might change your mind about wanting me.”

Bucky took his hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the back of it. “I'm willing to bet it won't change a thing.”

Steve stepped over and took a seat on the other side of him, his hand going to his back. "We're right here with you. Whatever it is you’ve got to say, we aren't going anywhere."

Tony took a few steadying breaths. He didn’t even know if he had the energy to do this, but it was now or never. If he just bit the bullet and put it out there, maybe it wouldn’t hold so much power over him. If only he could think of the words to start. “I honestly don’t know where to begin.”

Steve’s hand glided up and down his back. “Just start wherever you need to. We’ll catch on.”

He nodded, his heart beginning to beat a little faster, and his mouth going dry. “Well, as you probably know, I was treated to the scenic tour of Afghanistan a while back, spending some time kidnapped in a cave.” He wrung his hands, trying not to dig at the burn. “They wanted weapons, and they wanted me to build them.” He licked at his lips. “Obviously, I refused, and that’s when the party started.”

He could feel himself starting to shake as the memories came back as sharp and clear as the day they happened. He focused on the warm touch of the two men beside him, letting it ground him.

"You don't need to do this." Steve’s hand stilled. "You're shaking. Whatever it is, I promise it won't change things. This isn’t good for you."

Tony swallowed the lump in his throat, looking over at Steve. "Please, I need to get this out. If I wait, I might never get the courage again.”

"Okay," Steve said, hand beginning to move again. "But take your time. We're not going anywhere."

Tony nodded, and Bucky gave his hand a gentle squeeze. It gave him the strength to continue.

“Like I said, I refused to cooperate, so they got started trying to make me. Waterboarding was first, not as fun as the name sounds, and when that didn’t work, things got a bit kinky.” He huffed a laugh, eyes beginning to tear. “They started whipping me until I blacked out.” He drew a shaky breath.

“It’s okay,” Steve whispered. “We’re right here.”

He nodded, shaking loose a tear that rolled down his cheek. He tried to find the words for what was to come. “You know how they say hindsight is 20/20? They really do mean it. Looking back, I should have just given in at the waterboarding.”

His body wouldn’t stop shaking now, no matter how hard he tried to control it. His mind was torn in two. One half screaming for him to shut up, to not open this box, and the other just wanting to finally let it out. He'd been holding this secret for far too long.

He took a few steadying breaths. “So, where was I? Oh, yeah," he breathed. "I never thought about what would happen if I kept refusing. I was different back then—more reckless, I guess. I thought I was unbreakable, but they had something else up their sleeve, something I hadn’t even considered.”

His mouth was going dry, and the tears were flowing freely. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, but it did no good as the tears continued to fall. “One day, they came and started dragging me somewhere new. I was running my mouth, daring them to do their worst. I didn't know. I didn't think, but when I saw, I knew. They were going to break me.”

He sucked in a breath, blinking away the tears. “There was a dirty mattress on the floor with some cliché looking bad guys standing around the room. They pushed me onto it, stripping off my clothes." He felt sick remembering it; every detail was still etched perfectly in his mind. "They each took turns. One of them turned out to be a biter. I still have the scar on my shoulder from him."

Bucky’s grip had tightened on his hand, and Steve had stopped moving his. His head was still down, but he flicked his gaze over to Bucky, whose other hand was fisted in his lap. Tony knew it wasn’t an easy story to hear. He just hoped it hadn’t changed things between them.

He rubbed at his eyes, trying to will the tears to stop. “I get it if you guys want to back out after that.”

No one spoke. Time seemed to stand still, only the sounds of breathing filling the room, something which Tony took as rejection. He knew it'd been too good to be true. He thought that maybe, just once, the universe had given him a pass, let him have something good, but he was wrong. They didn’t want him.

He needed to get away—to be anywhere but there. He went to stand, but when he tried, Steve's hand moved to his shoulder, gently stopping him. He looked over at him. There were tears in the man’s eyes.

“What they did ... It changes nothing," Steve said. "You survived something that most people couldn’t. Jesus, Tony, don’t ever think that what those monsters did would change how we see you.”

He choked back a sob as the tears spilled down his cheeks. Steve ran his thumb along his cheekbone, trying to wipe them away, but they were coming too fast. His body was shaking.

Bucky gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Is it alright if I hold you?”

Tony looked to him and nodded, leaning into the larger man’s side. Bucky was quick to wrap his arms around him, pulling him close. He pressed his face into the crook of the soldier’s neck and let himself go, his shoulders shaking with each sob. He fell apart, and they stayed right there with him, murmuring reassurances and holding him close. Bucky rocked him gently as he hummed something soothing against him. He'd never let himself be vulnerable before. He didn’t usually trust like this. He should have been scared, but he wasn’t. It felt right.

Slowly, he calmed, feeling physically wrecked from the force of his breakdown and pulled away from Bucky’s chest. The man’s shirt was soaked from his tears and snot. It was gross. God, he hated crying.

“Sorry about your shirt.”

Bucky gave him a gentle smile. “It’ll wash. I'm more worried about you."

"I'm ... I don't know what I am.” His voice was shaky.

Steve took Tony's hand. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Not unless you can stop the nightmares.” Tony looked down at his hands. "It’s probably gonna be a bad night."

“Yeah,” Bucky said, carding his fingers through Tony’s hair. “You know, if it would help, we could stay the night—just as friends—wake you up if things get bad. We could sleep on the floor, even.”

Tony thought over his suggestion. He didn’t want to be alone, but the changes between them were a lot to take in. It seemed like they were moving fast, and it scared him. He didn’t know if he was ready for more. Sharing a room or a bed—even as friends—was a big leap. He just wasn’t sure it was one he was ready to take.

Maybe sensing his uncertainty, Steve spoke, “It’s no big deal. You don’t need to stress over it. I can understand your hesitation. Can you have Friday wake you if it gets too bad instead?”

“Yeah, she can, but if it’s alright, I wouldn’t mind trying it with you guys here tonight—just as friends. I’m not ready for more yet, and that doesn’t mean I’m not interested in more. It just means that I wanna go slow.”

“That’s no problem,” Bucky said. “We ain’t ever gonna push you, and if we ever make you feel like we have, I expect you put on your suit and kick the shit out of us.”

 Tony smiled. "I guess I should take my meds first and probably shower. I feel gross."

Steve ran his hand up and down his back. “How about I get you something to eat and grab your pills while you go shower?”

“That sounds like a plan,” Tony said. “I’m not very hungry, though. Maybe just some toast.”

Steve shook his head. “You need more than that. How about one of my protein drinks? I’d feel better knowing you got some calories into you.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

“If you’re gonna drink one of those things, I suggest strawberry. The others taste like crap,” Bucky supplied. “I don’t know how Stevie drinks the chocolate ones.”

“I’ll try Strawberry.”

Tony began getting together something to wear. He grabbed a pair of soft, flannel pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved shirt to hide the scar on his arm. They both knew what he’d done, but seeing it was a different story. That was something for another day. He walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He turned on the hot water until it nearly burned him and let the room fill with steam while he stripped. Once he was naked, he got a look at himself in the mirror—the ugly scars that marred his chest bright upon his pale skin.

He looked away when he turned toward the shower, not able to stomach the scars left from the whippings or the bite mark on his shoulder. Only Pepper had seen those scars, but she never pushed him to talk about them.

He made quick work of his shower. He just wanted in and out. After a quick rinse to get rid of the soap, he shut the water off and stepped out onto the mat, grabbing one of the oversized towels and drying off. He slipped on his boxers and the pajama pants, pausing to feel around the injection site. It was feeling a little better. He straightened his pants and then slipped on the shirt, making sure that the sleeves were down, hiding the scar on his arm.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Steve was back—the protein shake was on the nightstand and the pill sorter on the bed. They’d both taken their shoes off and looked to be making themselves comfortable. Something white caught on the nightstand caught his eye. It took him a moment to realize it was a first aid kit. He wondered what it was for.

Walking over to the bed, he picked up the sorter and dumped out the pills he needed into his hand. Steve handed him the shake, and Tony took it, popping the pills into his mouth and downing the chalky concoction as quickly as he could. His face twisted in a grimace at the after taste. He tossed the sorter on the dresser and turned back to face them.

“You guys drink those things on purpose?” Tony’s face was still scrunched in disgust. “And if you thought this was a good flavor.” He looked to Bucky. “I’m never trying the others.”

Steve chuckled. “You get used to them,” he said. “Super soldier metabolism. They are good for when you need some extra calories and protein but don’t have the time.” He grabbed the empty bottle from his hand, setting it back on the nightstand.

He heard Bucky clear his throat. He looked over to see him patting the bed beside him. “Come here. Let me see that hand.”

Now he got why there was a first aid kit. It seemed a bit much for such a small wound. He’d had worse and left them to heal on their own, but he could see this was something Bucky needed to do. It was more than just dressing a wound—it was a way he could fix something, even if it was just putting on a bandage. It was something tangible.

He sat down beside Bucky, letting the man take his hand in his own. He turned it so he could see his thumb and the mess of the wound he had on it. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t torn it open and dug into the flesh. The blister was long since gone, only a deep red wound remained. With gentle hands, Bucky laid Tony’s hand in his lap and proceeded to dig through the medical kit—collecting the supplies he needed. For having large hands, his fingers were incredibly nimble. He had it cleaned and wrapped in a blink of an eye. When he was done, he lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the bandage.

“Next time you feel like hurting yourself, don’t do this,” Bucky said, tone serious. “Find Steve or me. We can always find time to talk or even spar. I don’t want you doing this to yourself.”

He nodded and watched as they cleaned up and put the first aid kit away. The meds were starting to make him feel sleepy. He yawned and stretched. It was late, and Dr. Cho was coming the next day. He wished he could cancel, but he knew it was probably for the best to see her.

“I think it’s time we get you to bed,” Steve said. “And don’t worry, we’re staying fully clothed. We’re just here for support.”

Tony nodded, forcing himself to wobbly feet and pulling back the blankets. He slid under the covers, curling onto his side. He grabbed a pillow and tried to get it comfortable under his head—without tugging at the lingering knot in his neck.

“You can sleep in the bed. It’s … I think it’d be alright.”

A moment past, then the bed dipped behind him. “Hey, doll,” Bucky whispered. “Is it okay if I put my arms around you?”

He was never much for pet names—especially not someone calling him doll—but for some reason, he didn’t mind it coming from Bucky. Instead of verbally answering, he reached back and grabbed his arm, pulling him closer.

The larger man wrapped his arms around him, one arm snaked under his head, like a solid pillow of muscle, and his metal arm resting on his waist. It felt warm and good, but he was missing something. He wanted Steve, too. No one could argue that Tony wasn’t needy when he was stressed, tired, and a little bit drugged.

He lifted his head and tried to look over Bucky’s broad shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky whispered. “This okay?”

Tony blinked tiredly. “Where’s Steve?”

He heard footsteps and then saw Steve coming around into view. “I’m right here. I just didn’t want to crowd you.”

Tony yawned. “You’re not.” He wriggled back against Bucky, liking how he fit neatly against him. “Plenty of room.” He patted the space beside him. “Honestly, I’m still not sure this is real, so I figure I might as well just indulge myself while I can.”

“It’s not a dream,” Steve said, climbing into bed beside him, laying on his side to face him. He brushed a few stray hairs from Tony’s forehead.  “Just close your eyes. We aren’t going anywhere.”

Real or not, Tony didn’t care. He felt safe and warm—something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Eventually, his eyelids became too heavy to keep open, and he drifted off to sleep. Maybe he didn’t have to be alone after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the story, and I plan to come back and explore things more in a series. I think I could have changed some things, made it longer, explored things more, but I didn't because when this was written, it was filling a need I had in myself. I was a spiraling mess that needed support and so I made a world where I could hear the words I needed to hear.
> 
> Thank you so much, and if you did like it, I would love to hear from you --snarks


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